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By  the  Good  Sainte  Anne 


By  the  Good  Sainte  Anne 

A  SrORT  OF  MODERN  QUEBEC 


BY 

ANNA  CHAPIN  RAY 

Author  of  "Teddy,  Her  Book,"  <<  Phebe,  Her  Profession,"  "  Nathalie's 
Sister,"  "  On  the  Firing  Line,"  etc. 

ILLUSTRATED  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


Boston 
Little,  Brown,  and   Company 

1905 


D 


Copyright^  rgo4,  IQO^, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  CompanYo 

^11  rights  reser'ved 


THE   UNIVERSITY    PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE,     U.  S.  A. 


TO 

S.  M.  P.  M. 
BRITISHER 

IN  TOKEN  OF  AMITY 


ivi598<455 


List   of  Illustrations 

From  photographs  by  M.  Jules  Livernois 

DuFFERiN   Terrace Frontispiece 

*' Past  the  gray  old  front  of  the  Basilica  "    .      .      .      Fage       19 

*'  The  church  of  the  good  Sainte  Anne,  its  twin 
gray  towers  rising  sharply  against  the  blue 
October  sky" .      .      =  '<       21 

"  Just  outside  the  Saint  Louis  Gate"     ....  '*       90 

"  Sous-le-Cap  remains  the  crowning  joy  of  ancient 

Quebec" "152 

"  Ten  o'clock  found  Champlain  Market  the  centre 

of  an  eager,  jostling  throng"       ....  "183 

<*Too   obviously   converted   to    twentieth-century 

purposes" "194 

**  Looking  down  upon  Sillery  Cove "      ....  "     224 

<«  Along  the  darkening  tunnel  of  Little  Cham- 
plain  Street" ^'229 

"The  brief,  empty  stretch  of  road  before  him  "  .  "     269 

"  That  simple  shaft  marked  the  end  of  one  who 

died  victorious " "     278 


By  the  Good  Sainte  Anne 


CHAPTER   ONE 

PETULANTLY  Nancy  Howard  cast  aside 
her  letter  and  buried  her  chin  in  her 
cupped  palms. 

"  Oh,  the  woes  of  having  a  learned  father  !  " 
she  sighed.  "  Here  is  Joe's  letter,  telling  me 
how  everything  is  starting  up  at  home ;  and 
here  am  I,  Nancy  Howard,  buried  in  this 
picturesque,  polyglot  wilderness,  just  because 
my  sire  feels  himself  moved  to  take  a  vacation 
from  medicine  in  order  to  study  history  at 
first  hand  !  I  wish  he  would  let  his  stupid 
monograph  go  to  the  winds,  and  take  me 
home  in  time  for  the  Leighton's  dinner,  next 
week." 

She  picked  up  the  scattered  sheets  of  her 
letter  and  ran  them  over  once  more,  holding 
up  her  left  hand,  as  she  did  so,  to  cut  off  the 
dazzling  sunshine  from  the  white  paper.  It 
was  a  pretty  hand,  slim,  strong  and  tapering. 
Prettier  still  was  her  head,  erect  and  crowned 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

with  piles  of  reddish-brown  hair.  It  was  not 
without  apparent  reason  that  Nancy  Howard 
had  been,  for  the  past  year,  one  of  the  most 
popular  girls  of  her  social  circle  at  home. 

At  the  third  page,  her  brows  wrinkled 
thoughtfully.  Dropping  the  loose  sheets  into 
her  lap,  she  once  more  fell  to  musing  aloud. 

"  It  does  seem  to  me  that  Joe  is  seeing  a 
good  deal  of  Persis  Routh.  I  never  thought 
he  liked  her  especially  well.  But  anyway  T 
am  out  of  all  the  fun.  Space  is  n't  the  only 
thing  that  makes  distance.  Up  here,  I  am  at 
least  two  hundred  years  away  from  home. 
How  long  have  I  been  here  ?  Eight,  no,  nine 
days."  Suddenly  she  laughed.  "  At  least,  it 
has  been  a  period  of  fasting  and  meditation. 
I  believe  I  '11  count  it  as  a  novena  to  the  Good 
Sainte  Anne.  Perhaps  she  will  manufacture  a 
miracle  in  my  behalf,  and  get  up  a  little  excite- 
ment for  me.  Fancy  an  excitement  in  this 
place  ! " 

"  B'jour,  mam'selle." 

Nancy  turned  alertly,  as  the  voice  broke  in 
upon  her  musings. 

"  Bon  jour,  madame,"  she  answered,  with  a 
painstaking  French  which  laid  careful  stress 
upon  each  silent  letter  and  separated  the  words 
into  an  equal    number    of  distinct   sentences. 

z 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

At  present,  it  was  her  latest  linguistic  accom- 
plishment, and  she  aired  it  with  manifest 
pride. 

Pausing  midway  over  the  stile,  the  old 
woman  brushed  her  face  with  the  apron  that 
hung  above  her  tucked-up  skirt. 

"  Why  not  you  go  to  the  church  ?  "  she 
asked. 

Nancy  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  the  talk 
lapsed    into    her   mother  tongue.     Like  most 
Americans,  she  preferred    that    conversational 
eccentricities  should  be  entirely  upon  the  other 
side,  and  she  questioned  how  far  she  could  go 
upon  the  strength    of  her    own    three  words. 
Nevertheless,    she    framed    her    reply   on    the 
idioms  of  her  companion. 
"Why  for  should  I  go  ? " 
The  woman  set  down  her  pail  of  water  on 
the  top  step  of  the  stile.     Then  she  planted 
herself  just  below  it,  with    her    coarse    boots 
resting  on  the  crisp  brown  turf. 

"We  go  to  church,  all  the  days,'*  she  ad- 
monished Nancy  sternly. 
The  girl  smiled  irrepressibly. 
"So  I  have  noticed,"  she  said,  half  under 
her  breath.     Then  she  added  hastily,  "  But  we 
do  not." 

"  Are  you  Catholique  ?  " 

3 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Nancy  shook  her  head. 

"  Too  bad  !  But  surely  you  can  pray  in 
any  church." 

This  time,  Nancy  felt  a  rebuke. 

"  Yes,"  she  assented  ;  "  but  I  am  not  used 
to  going,  every  day." 

"No.  No?"  The  second  no  was  plainly 
interrogative.  "  But  the  Good  Sainte  Anne 
only  does  those  miracle  to  them  that  pray 
without  ceasing." 

The  girl  faced  about  sharply. 

"  Madame  Gagnier,  have  you  ever  seen  a 
miracle  ?  " 

The  wide  flat  hat  nodded  assent. 

"  A  real,  true  miracle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  so  many." 

"  Hh  !     I  'd  like  to  see  one." 

Two  keen  old  eyes  peered  up  at  her  from 
beneath  the  wide  hat. 

"  Mam'selle  does  not  believe  ?  " 

There  was  reproach  in  the  accent ;  but  the 
girl  answered  undauntedly,  — 

"  Not  one  bit.  I  '11  wait  till  I  have  seen 
one. 

Madame  Gagnier  shrugged  her  shoulders 
ever  so  slightly. 

"  How   shall    you    see,   having    no   eyes   at 

all  ? " 

4 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANXE 

Nancy's  brown  eyes  snapped  in  defiant  con- 
tradiction of  the  slight  put  upon  them.  It  was 
no  part  of  her  plan  to  be  drawn  into  theological 
discussion.  However,  theological  discussion 
being  forced  upon  her,  she  had  no  mind  to 
give  way.  Motherless  from  her  childhood, 
Nancy  Howard  had  never  been  trained  in  the 
purely  feminine  grace  of  suppressing  her  opin- 
ions. 

'*  I  not  only  have  eyes;  but  I  have  a  little 
common  sense,"  she  answered  aggressively. 

The  next  instant,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
sudden  wave  of  contrition.  Madame  Gagnier 
unclasped  her  wrinkled  hands  and  crossed  her- 
self devoutly. 

"  Then  may  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  open 
your  eyes  !  "  she  responded,  with  gentle  sim- 
plicity. "  You  carry  her  name.  Pray  that 
she  take  you  under  her  protection,  and  work 
this  miracle  in  your  behalf.  She  is  all- 
gracious,  and  her  goodness  has  not  any  limits 
at  all." 

Impulsively  the  girl  rose  from  her  seat  on 
the  ground,  crossed  to  the  stile  and  dropped 
down  on  its  lowest  step. 

"  Madame  Gagnier,  I  was  very  rude,"  she 
said,  with  equal  simplicity. 

Then  silence  dropped  over  them,  the  silence 

5 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

of  the  country  and  of  the  past.  Forgetful  of 
the  letter  she  had  let  slip  to  the  ground,  for- 
getful of  the  coarse,  mannish  boots  beside  her 
own  dainty  ties,  the  girl  allowed  her  gaze  to 
wander  back  and  forth  across  the  view.  It 
had  grown  so  familiar  to  her  during  the  last 
nine  days,  interminable  days  to  the  energetic, 
society-loving  American  girl  who  had  chafed  at 
her  exile  from  the  early  gayeties  of  the  awaken- 
ing season  in  town. 

Fifty  feet  away  stood  her  temporary  prison, 
a  long,  narrow  stone  house  coated  with  shining 
white  plaster.  Above  its  single  story,  the 
pointed  roof  shot  up  sharply,  broken  by  two 
dormer  windows  and  topped  with  a  chimney 
at  either  end,  the  one  of  stone,  the  other  of 
brick.  The  palings  in  front  of  the  house 
were  white,  dotted  with  their  dark  green 
posts ;  but,  the  house  once  passed,  the  neat 
palings  promptly  degenerated  into  a  post- 
and-rail  fence  guiltless  of  paint  and  crossed 
with  a  stile  at  important  strategic  points  con- 
nected with  the  barn.  For  one  hundred  feet 
in  front  of  the  house,  the  smooth-cropped  lawn 
rolled  gently  downward.  Then  it  dropped 
sharply  from  the  crest  of  the  bluff  in  an  almost 
perpendicular  grassy  wall  reaching  down  to  the 
single    long    street    of  Beaupre,  two  hundred 

6 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  AXNE 

feet  below.  The  crest  of  the  bluff  was  dotted 
by  an  occasional  farmhouse,  each  reached  by 
its  zigzag  trail  up  the  slope ;  but,  in  the  street 
beneath,  the  houses  met  in  two  continuous, 
unbroken  lines,  parallel  to  that  other  continu- 
ous line  of  the  mighty  river.  The  river  was 
mud-colored,  to-day ;  and  the  turf  about  her 
was  browned  by  early  frosts  ;  but  the  Isle  of 
Orleans  lay  blue  in  the  middle  distance,  and, 
far  to  the  north.  Cap  Tourmente  rested  in  a 
purple  haze.  At  her  feet,  the  white  sail  of 
a  stray  fishing-boat  caught  the  sunlight  and 
tossed  it  back  to  her,  and,  nearer  still,  the  gray 
twin  spires  of  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  rose  in 
the  clear  October  air. 

"Mother  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  protector  of 
sailors,  healer  of  the  faithful,  patron  saint  of 
the  New  France."  Dame  Gagnier  was  rehears- 
ing the  attributes  of  the  saint  to  herself  in  her 
own  harsh  patois. 

The  girl  interrupted  her  ruthlessly. 

"  What  an  enormous  train  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Eh .? " 

Nancy  pointed  to  the  long  line  of  cars  crawl- 
ing up  to  the  station  beside  the  church. 

"  Long  train.  Many  cars,"  she  explained 
slowly. 

7 


BY  THE   GOOD   SATNTE   ANNE 

Dame  Gagnier's  eyes  followed  the  pointing 
finger. 

"Yes.     It  is  a  pilgrimage,"  she  answered. 

The  girl  scrambled  to  her  feet. 

"  Really?  A  pilgrimage  !  I  thought  it  was 
too  late  in  the  season.  Do  you  suppose  there 
will  be  a  miracle  ?  "  she  questioned  eagerly. 

Under  the  wide  hat,  the  eyes  lighted  and 
the  wrinkled  lips  puckered  into  a  smile. 

"  Mam^selle  does  not  believe  in  those  mira- 
cle," Madame  Gagnier  reminded  her. 

Nancy's  shoulders  shaped  themselves  into 
an  American  travesty  of  the  inimitable  French 
shrug. 

"  I  am  always  open  to  conviction,"  she  an- 
nounced calmly. 

"  Eh  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  see  for  myself." 

"  Mam'selle  will  go  to  church  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  if  you  are  sure  it  is  a  pil- 
grimage." 

"  What  else  ?  "  In  her  turn,  Madame  Ga- 
gnier pointed  to  the  train  whence  a  stream  of 
humanity  was  pouring  into  the  square  court- 
yard of  the  Basilica. 

"  You  are  sure  ?  I  don't  want  to  break  my 
neck  for  nothing,  scrambling  down  your  ances- 
tral driveway." 

8 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

"Eh?" 

For  the  thousandth  time  during  the  past 
nine  days,  Nancy  felt  an  unreasoning  rage 
against  the  deliberate  monosyllable  that  checked 
her  whimsical  talk.  In  time,  it  becomes  an- 
noying to  be  obliged  to  explain  all  one*s  figures 
of  speech.  Abruptly  she  pulled  herself  up 
and  began  again. 

"  Unless  you  are  sure  it  is  a  pilgrimage,  I 
do  not  wish  to  walk  down  the  steep  slope,"  she 
amended. 

"Yes.  It  is  a  pilgrimage  from  Lake  Saint 
John.  My  son  told  me.  It  is  the  last  pil- 
grimage of  the  year." 

Nancy  clasped  her  hands  in  rapture. 

"Glory  be!"  she  breathed  fervently.  "I 
am  in  great  luck,  to-day,  for  they  said  that  it 
was  too  late  in  the  year  to  expect  any  more  of 
them.  The  Good  Sainte  Anne  is  working  in 
my  behalf  Now,  if  she  will  only  produce  a 
miracle,  I  '11  be  quite  content.  Good  by, 
Madame  Gagnier !  " 

Madame  Gagnier  nodded,  as  she  looked  after 
the  alert,  erect  figure. 

"  Mam'selle  does  not  believe  in  those  mira- 
cle," she  said  calmly.     "  Well,  she  shall  see." 

The  girl  stooped  to  pick  up  her  letters. 
Then  swiftly  she  crossed  the  lawn  and  entered 

9 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

the  house.  Outside  a  closed  door,  she  paused 
and  tapped  softly. 

"  Come  in."  The  answering  voice  was  im- 
personal, abstracted. 

Pushing  open  the  door,  Nancy  entered 
the  little  sitting-room  and  crossed  to  the 
desk  by  the  sunny  window  looking  out  on 
the  river. 

"  Daddy  dear,  are  you  going  to  come  with 
me,  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  " 

The  figure  before  the  desk  lost  Its  scholarly 
abstraction  and  came  back  to  the  present. 
The  student  of  antiquity  had  changed  to  the 
adoring  father  of  a  most  modern  sort  of  Amer- 
ican girl ;  and  his  eyes,  leaving  the  musty 
ecclesiastical  records,  brightened  with  a  wholly 
worldly  pride  in  his  pretty  daughter. 

^^What  now?'' 

"  A  pilgrimage.  A  great,  big  pilgrimage, 
the  last  one  of  the  year,"  she  said  eagerly. 
"  I  'm  going  down  to  see  it.  Surely  you  '11 
go,  too." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  do,"  she  urged.  "  You  ought  to  see 
it,  as  a  matter  of  history.  It  is  worth  more 
than  tons  of  old  records,  this  seeing  middle- 
age  miracles  happening  in  these  prosy  modern 
days." 

lO 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  isn't  Lourdes, 
Nancy,"  he  cautioned  her. 

"  No  ;  but  the  guide-books  say  it  is  only 
second  to  Lourdes,"  she  answered  undaunt- 
edly. "  Anyway,  I  want  to  see  what  is  hap- 
pening.    Won't  you  come,  really,  daddy  ?  " 

His  eyes  twinkled,  as  they  looked  up  into 
her  animated  face. 

"  Nancy,  I  am  sixty-five  years  old,  and  that 
trail  up  the  hill  is  worse  than  the  Matterhorn. 
If  you  follow  the  zigzags,  you  walk  ten  miles 
in  order  to  accomplish  one  hundred  feet ;  if 
you  strike  out  across  country,  you  have  to 
wriggle  up  on  all  fours.  I  know,  for  I  have 
tried  it.  It  is  n't  a  seemly  thing  for  a  man  of 
my  years  to  come  crawling  home,  flat  on  his 
stomach." 

She  laughed,  as  she  stood  drumming  idly  on 
the  table. 

"  I  am  sorry.  It  is  so  much  more  fun  to 
have  somebody  to  play  with.  Still,  I  shall  go, 
even  if  I  must  go  alone." 

She  started  towards  the  door ;  then  turned 
to  face  him,  as  he  added  hastily,  — 

"  And,  if  you  see  Pere  Felicien,  ask  him 
when  I  can  examine  those  last  records  by 
Monseigneur  Laval.     I  shall  be  here,  tell  him, 

about  ten  days  longer." 

II 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy's  face  fell. 

"  Ten  mortal  days  !     Oh,  daddy  !  '* 

"  Yes,  I  shall  need  as  much  time  as  that.  I 
prefer  to  finish  up  my  work  here,  before  I  go 
on  to  Quebec." 

"And  how  long  do  you  mean  to  stay  in 
Quebec  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  minor  cadence  in  her  tone  escaped  her 
father's  ears.  He  patted  the  papers  before 
him  caressingly. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  tell.  Four  or  five 
weeks,  I  should  say.  That  ought  to  give  me 
time  to  gather  my  materials." 

Nancy  loved  her  gay  home  life;  but  she 
also  loved  her  father.  She  tossed  him  a  kiss 
as  she  left  the  room  ;  nevertheless,  the  smile 
that  accompanied  the  kiss  was  rather  forlorn 
and  wavering.  Once  outside  the  door,  how- 
ever, she  freed  her  mind. 

"  Ten  more  days  here,  and  a  month  in  that 
hole  of  a  Quebec !  It  will  be  Thanksgiving, 
before  we  get  home.  Think  of  all  the  fun  I 
shall  be  losing  !  "  She  pinned  on  her  hat  with 
a  series  of  energetic  pries  and  pushes.  Then 
she  added  fervently,  "  Oh,  Good  Sainte  Anne, 
do  get  up  the  greatest  miracle  of  all,  and  pro- 
duce something  or  somebody  that  shall  add  a 
little  variety  to  my  existence  !      I  '11  give  fifty 

12 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

cents  to  the  souls  in  purgatory,  if  you  '11  only 
be  good  enough  to  rescue  my  soul  from  this 
absolute  boredom  of  boredoms." 

Surely,  never  was  more  unorthodox  prayer 
directed  upward  from  any  shrine.  However, 
the  Good  Sainte  Anne  chanced  to  be  in  a  pro- 
pitious mood,  that  day. 


13 


CHAPTER   TWO 

MR.   CECIL   BARTH  was  unfelgnedly 
low  in  his  mind,  that  morning.     The 
causes  were  various  and  sundry. 

First  of  all,  Quebec  was  a  bore.  In  the 
second  place,  the  only  people  to  whom  he  had 
brought  letters  of  introduction  had  most  in- 
considerately migrated  to  Vancouver,  and,  fresh 
from  his  English  university,  he  was  facing  the 
prospect  of  a  solitary  winter  before  he  could  go 
out  into  ranch  life  in  the  spring.  A  Britisher 
of  sorts,  it  had  not  appeared  to  him  to  be 
necessary  to  inform  himself  in  advance  regard- 
ing the  conditions,  climatic  and  social,  of  the 
new  country  to  which  he  was  going.  Now, 
too  late,  he  recognized  his  mistake.  A  third 
grievance  lay  in  the  non-arrival  of  the  English 
mail,  that  morning ;  and  the  fourth  and  most 
fatal  of  all  lurked  in  the  kindly  efforts  of  his 
table  companion  to  draw  him  into  the  conver- 
sation. To  his  mind,  there  was  no  reason  that 
the  swarthy,  black-browed  little  Frenchman 
at  his  elbow  should  offer  him  any  comments 
upon  the  state  of  the  weather.     The  French- 

14 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

man  had  promptly  retired  from  the  talk  ;  but 
his  dark  eyes  had  lighted  mirthfully,  as  they 
had  met  the  asphalt-like  stare  of  his  neighbor's 
eyeglasses.  Adolphe  St.  Jacques  possessed  his 
own  fair  share  of  a  sense  of  humor;  and  Cecil 
Barth  was  a  new  element  in  his  experience. 

"  Monsieur  has  swallowed  something  stiff 
that  does  not  agree  with  him,"  he  observed 
blandly  to  his  fellow  student  across  the  table ; 
and  Barth,  whose  French  was  of  Paris,  not  of 
Canada,  was  totally  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
their  merriment. 

For  the  past  week,  the  group  of  students 
and  the  chatter  of  their  Canadian  patois  had 
been  anathema  to  him.  He  understood  not  a 
word  of  their  talk,  and  consequently,  with  the 
extreme  sensitiveness  which  too  often  accom- 
panies extreme  egotism,  he  imagined  that  it 
related  solely  to  himself.  In  vain  he  tried  to 
avoid  their  hours  for  meals.  Rising  betimes, 
he  met  them  at  the  hurried  early  breakfast 
which  betokened  an  eight  o'clock  lecture.  The 
next  morning,  dreary  loitering  in  his  room  only 
brought  him  into  the  midst  of  the  deliberate 
meal  which  was  the  joyous  prerogative  of  their 
more  leisurely  days.  Barth  liked  The  Maple 
Leaf  absolutely ;  but  he  hated  the  students  of 
his  own  table  with  a  cordial  and  perfect  hatred. 

15 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Dropped  from  the  Allan  Line  steamer,  one 
bright  September  morning,  as  a  matter  of 
course  he  had  been  driven  up  through  the 
gray  old  town  to  the  Chateau  Frontenac.  A 
week  at  the  Chateau  had  been  quite  enough 
for  him.  To  his  mind,  its  luxurious  rooms  had 
been  altogether  too  American.  Too  American, 
also,  were  its  inhabitants.  He  shrank  from  the 
obvious  brides  in  their  new  tailor  gowns  and 
their  evident  absorption  in  their  companions. 
He  resented  those  others  who,  more  elderly  or 
more  detached,  roused  themselves  from  their 
absorption  to  bestow  a  friendly  word  on  the 
solitary  young  Englishman.  Their  clothes, 
their  accent,  and,  worst  of  all,  their  manners 
betrayed  their  alien  birth.  No  self-respecting 
woman,  bride  or  no  bride,  ever  wore  such 
dainty  shoes.  No  man  of  education  ever 
stigmatized  an  innocent  babe  as  cunning.  And 
there  was  no,  absolutely  no,  excuse  for  the 
familiar  greetings  bestowed  upon  himself  by 
complete  strangers. 

"  Americans  ! "  quoth  Mr.  Cecil  Barth. 
"Oh,  rather!" 

And,  next  morning,  he  went  in  search  of 
another  hostelry. 

He  found  it  at  The  Maple  Leaf,  just  across 
the  Place  dArmes.      Fate  denied  to  him  the 

i6 


BY  THE   GOOD   SATNTE   ANNE 

privilege  of  sleeping  in  the  quaint  little  pension 
whose  roof  was  sanctified  by  having  once  shel- 
tered his  compatriot,  Dickens  ;  he  could  only- 
take  his  meals  there,  and  hunt  for  a  room 
outside.  At  noon,  he  came  to  dinner,  too  ex- 
hausted by  his  fruitless  search  to  care  whether 
or  not  the  students  were  at  the  table,  or  on  it, 
or  even  under  it.  Go  back  to  the  Chateau  he 
would  not ;  but  he  began  to  fear  lest  the  only 
alternative  lay  in  a  tent  pitched  on  the  terrace 
in  the  lee  of  the  Citadel  and,  in  that  wilderness, 
he  questioned  whether  anything  so  modern  as 
a  tent  could  be  bought. 

After  dinner,  the  Lady  of  The  Maple  Leaf 
took  his  affairs  in  hand.  She  possessed  the 
two  essentials,  a  kindly  heart  and  a  sense  of 
humor.  She  had  seen  stray  Britishers  before  ; 
she  had  a  keen  perception  of  the  artistic  fitness 
of  things  and,  by  twilight,  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  was 
sitting  impotently  upon  his  boxes  in  the  third- 
floor  front  room  of  the  town  house  of  the 
Duke  of  Kent.  He  had  very  little  notion  of 
the  way  to  proceed  about  unpacking  himself 
Nevertheless,  as  he  put  on  his  glasses  and 
stared  at  the  panelled  shutters  of  his  ducal 
casement,  he  felt  more  at  peace  with  the  world 
than  he  had  done  for  two  long  weeks. 

In  after  years,  he  never  saw  fit  to  divulge 

17 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

the  details  of  his  unpacking.  It  accomplished 
itself  chiefly  by  the  simple  method  of  his 
tossing  out  on  the  floor  whatever  things  lay 
above  any  desired  object,  of  leaving  those 
things  on  the  floor  until  he  became  weary  of 
tangling  his  feet  in  them,  then  of  stowing  them 
away  in  any  convenient  corner  that  offered 
itself  By  this  simple  method,  however,  he 
had  contrived  to  gain  space  enough  to  permit 
of  his  tramping  up  and  down  the  floor,  and  it 
was  there  that  he  had  been  taking  petulant 
exercise,  that  bright  October  morning. 

At  last  he  halted  at  the  window  and  stood 
looking  down  into  the  street  beneath.  The 
IXike  of  Kent's  house  has  the  distinction,  rare 
in  Saint  Louis  Street,  of  standing  well  back 
within  its  own  grounds,  and,  from  his  window, 
Barth  could  watch  the  leisurely  procession 
passing  to  and  fro  on  the  wooden  sidewalks 
which  separated  the  gray  stone  buildings  from 
the  paler  gray  stripe  of  asphalt  between. 
Even  at  that  early  hour,  it  was  a  variegated 
procession.  Tailor-made  girls  mingled  with 
black-gowned  nuns,  soldiers  from  the  Citadel, 
swaggering  jauntily  along,  jostled  a  brown- 
cowled  Franciscan  friar  or  a  portly  citizen  with 
his  omnipresent  umbrella,  while  now  and  then 
Barth  caught  sight  of  a  scarlet-barred  khaki 

i8 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AIS^E 

uniform,  or  of  the  white  serge  robe  and  dove- 
colored  cloak  of  a  sister  from  the  new  convent 
out  on  the  Grand  Allee. 

Barth  had  travelled  before ;  he  had  seen 
many  cities ;  nevertheless,  he  acknowledged 
the  charm  of  this  varied  humanity,  so  long  as 
it  remained  safely  at  his  feet.  Then  he  glanced 
diagonally  across  the  road  to  the  Montcalm 
headquarters,  and  discovered  the  patch  of  sun- 
shine that  lay  over  its  pointed  gables. 

"Jolly  sort  of  day!"  he  observed  to  him- 
self. "  I  believe  I  '11  try  to  see  something  or 
other." 

With  a  swift  forgiveness  for  the  past  days  of 
scurrying  clouds,  of  the  woes  of  moving,  even 
of  students  and  Americans,  he  turned  away 
from  the  window,  caught  up  his  hat,  stick  and 
gloves,  and  ran  lightly  down  the  staircase. 
Once  out  in  the  street,  he  strayed  past  the 
English  cathedral,  past  the  gray  old  front  of 
the  Basilica,  turned  to  his  left,  then  turned 
again  and  wandered  aimlessly  down  Palace 
Hill.  Ten  minutes  later,  he  stopped  beside 
an  electric  train  and  watched  the  crowd  scram- 
bling into  its  cars. 

"  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre,"  he  read  from 
the  label  in  a  rear  window.  "  What  can  be  the 
attraction  there  ?     Oh,  I  know  ;  it 's  that  Amer- 

19 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

ican  Lourdes  place.  How  awfully  American 
to  go  to  its  miracles  by  electricity  !  I  believe 
I  '11  go,  too.  It  might  be  rather  interesting  to 
see  what  an  American  miracle  is  like.'* 

Ticket  in  hand,  he  boarded  the  train,  already 
moving  out  of  the  station.  He  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  finding  a  seat  to  his  liking,  since  a 
man  of  finical  habits  objects  to  having  two 
bundle-laden  habitants  in  the  same  seat  with 
himself  However,  by  the  time  he  was  sliding 
along  under  the  bluff  at  Beauport,  with  the  Saint 
Lawrence  glistening  on  his  right,  he  decided 
that  the  morning  was  ideal  for  a  country  ride. 
By  the  time  the  train  halted  opposite  the  Falls 
of  Montmorency,  he  had  forgotten  the  ubiqui- 
tous students  at  his  table,  and,  as  he  entered 
into  the  fertile  valley  of  L'Ange  Gardien,  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  chance  had  led 
him  wisely.  Just  how  wisely,  as  yet  he  was  in 
ignorance. 

It  was  still  long  before  midday  when  the 
train  drew  up  at  Sainte  Anne  station,  and 
Barth  stepped  out  upon  the  platform.  Then 
in  amazement  he  halted  to  look  about  him. 
Close  at  hand,  an  arched  gateway  led  into  a 
broad  square  garden,  bounded  by  gravel  walks 
and  bordered  on  two  sides  by  a  row  of  little 
shrines,  aged  and  weatherbeaten.     On  the  third 

20 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

side  stood  the  church  of  the  Good  Sainte  Anne, 
its  twin  gray  towers  rising  sharply  against  the 
blue  October  sky  and  flanking  the  gilded 
statue  of  the  saint  poised  on  the  point  of  the 
middle  roof  Around  the  four  sides  of  the 
courtyard  there  slowly  filed  a  motley  proces- 
sion of  humanity,  here  a  cripple,  there  one 
racked  by  some  mental  agony,  the  sick  in 
mind  and  body,  simple-hearted  and  trusting, 
each  bringing  his  secret  grief  to  lay  at  the  feet 
of  the  Good  Sainte  Anne.  Mass  was  already 
over,  and  the  procession  had  formed  again  to 
march  to  the  shrine  and  to  the  holy  altar. 

Earth's  eyes  roved  over  the  shabby  proces- 
sion, over  the  faces,  dull  and  heavy,  or  alert 
with  trust ;  then  he  turned  to  the  rose-arched 
figure  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  the  chanting 
priests,  and  his  blood  throbbed  in  his  veins, 
as  he  listened  to  their  rich,  sonorous  voices. 

"  A  pilgrimage  !  "  he  ejaculated  to  himself 
"  And  now  for  a  miracle  !  May  the  saint  be 
propitious,  for  once  in  a  way !  " 

Following  hard  on  the  heels  of  the  crowd, 
he  pushed  his  way  through  one  of  the  wide 
doors,  gave  a  disdainful  glance  at  the  huge 
racks  of  crutches  and  braces  left  by  long  gen- 
erations of  pious  pilgrims,  looked  up  at  the 
vaulted   roof,  forward   to   the   huge   statue   of 

21 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Sainte  Anne  half-way  up  the  middle  aisle,  and 
drew  a  deep  breath  of  content.  The  next 
minute,  he  choked,  as  the  stifling  atmosphere 
of  the  place  swept  into  his  throat  and  nostrils. 

"  Oh,  by  George !  "  said   Mr.  Cecil  Barth. 

However,  once  there,  he  resolved  to  see  the 
spectacle  to  the  end.  Furthermore,  Barth  was 
artist  to  the  core  of  his  being,  and  those  sono- 
rous voices,  now  ringing  down  from  the  organ 
loft  above,  could  atone  for  much  stale  air.  A 
step  at  a  time,  he  edged  forward  cautiously  and 
took  his  place  not  far  from  the  altar  rail. 

The  students  of  his  table  would  have  found 
it  hard  to  recognize  the  haughty  young  Eng- 
lishman in  the  man  who  knelt  there,  looking 
with  pitiful  eyes  at  the  forlorn  stream  of 
humanity  that  flowed  past  him.  Was  it  all 
worth  while :  the  weary  fastings  and  masses, 
the  scrimping  of  tiny  incomes  for  the  sake 
of  the  journey  and  of  the  oflTering  at  the  shrine, 
the  faith  and  hope,  and  the  infinite,  childlike 
trust,  all  to  culminate  in  the  moment  of  kneel- 
ing at  the  carved  altar  rail,  of  feeling  the  sacred 
relic  touched  to  one's  lips  and  to  the  plague- 
spot  of  body  or  of  soul?  And  then  they  were 
brushed  aside  with  the  monotonous  brushing 
of  the  reHc  across  the  folded  napkin  in  the  left 
hand  of  the  priest.     For  better  or  worse,  the 

22 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

pilgrimage  was  over.  It  was  the  turn  of  the 
next  man.  Brushed  aside,  he  rose  from  his 
knees  to  give  place  to  the  next,  and  yet  the 

next. 

Just  once  the  monotony  was  broken.  A 
worn  pair  of  crutches  dropped  at  the  feet  of 
the  statue ;  a  worn  old  man,  white  to  his  lips, 
staggered  forward,  knelt  and  received  the  heal- 
ing touch  on  lip  and  thigh  and  knee.  Then, 
with  every  nerve  tense,  he  struggled  to  his  feet 
and  made  his  toilsome  way  to  the  outer  world, 
while  the  priests  recorded  one  more  miracle 
wrought  by  the  Good  Sainte  Anne.  Then 
the  monotony  fell  again,  and  became  seem- 
ingly interminable. 

At  length  Barth  could  endure  it  no  longer. 
Rising  impatiently,  he  forced  his  way  down 
the  crowded  aisle  and  came  out  into  the  air 
once  more.  After  the  dim,  dark  church  and 
the  choking  cloud  of  the  incense,  the  rush  of 
sunshiny  ozone  struck  him  in  the  face  like  a 
lash,  and  involuntarily  he  raised  his  head  and 
squared  his  shoulders  to  meet  it.  He  loitered 
along  the  gravel  pathway,  watching  the  habi- 
tants who,  their  pious  pilgrimage  over,  were 
opening  their  crumpled  valises  and  spreading 
out  their  luncheons  in  the  cloisters  to  the 
south    of   the    church.     Then,  tossing  a  coin 


BY   THE    GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

into  the  tin  cup  of  the  blind  beggar  in  the 
gateway,  he  came  out  of  the  court  and  crossed 
the  road  to  the  little  hillside  chapel  built  of  the 
seventeenth-century  materials  of  the  old  church 
of  Sainte  Anne.  But  the  spell  of  the  place 
was  still  upon  him  ;  in  his  mind's  eye,  he  yet 
saw  the  endless  line  of  pilgrims,  bowing  and 
rising  in  unbroken  succession.  With  unseeing 
gaze,  he  stared  at  the  rows  of  carts  heaped 
with  their  ecclesiastical  trinkets,  at  the  stray 
figures  lifting  themselves  heavenward  by  means 
of  the  Scala  Sancta  Chapel,  and  at  the  line  of 
white  farmhouses  poised  high  on  the  bluff 
beyond.  Then,  yielding  to  the  spell  of  the 
kneeling  figures,  of  the  incense-filled  air  and 
of  the  chanting  voices,  he  turned  and  hurried 
back  again  to  the  church. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  steps  once  more, 
the  procession  was  flowing  swiftly  outward, 
and^  the  little  platform  at  the  doorway  was 
crowded  with  excited  figures.  Barth  tried  this 
door  and  then  that,  in  a  futile  endeavor  to 
regain  his  old  place  near  the  altar  rail ;  but 
again  and  again  he  was  forced  backward  to  the 
very  verge  of  the  steps.  Then  an  unduly  tall 
habitant  elbowed  Barth's  glasses  from  his  nose. 
He  bent  down  to  pick  them  up,  was  jostled 
rudely  from  behind,  lost  his  balance  and  rolled 

24 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

down  the  steps  where  he  landed  in  a  dusty, 
ignominious  heap  in  the  midst  of  a  knot  of 
women. 

During  one  swift  second,  it  seemed  to  Barth 
that  the  vast  statue  of  Sainte  Anne  had 
tumbled  from  the  roof,  to  dazzle  his  eyes  with 
her  gilding  and  to  crush  his  body  with  her 
weight.  Then  the  dancing  lights  and  the 
shooting  pains  ended  in  darkness  and  peace. 


25 


CHAPTER   THREE 

OUT  of  darkness  and  peace,  Mr.  Cecil 
Barth  drifted  slowly  backward  to  the 
consciousness  of  the  glare  of  the  sunshine,  of 
a  babel  of  foreign  tongues  and  of  two  points 
of  physical  anguish,  centering  respectively  in  a 
bruised  head  and  a  sprained  ankle.  He  closed 
his  eyes  again ;  but  he  was  unable  to  close  his 
ears.  Still  too  weak  to  make  any  eifort  upon 
his  own  behalf,  he  wondered  vaguely  when 
those  clacking  tongues  would  cease,  and  their 
owners  begin  to  do  something  for  his  relief 

"  Stand  out  of  the  way,  please.  He  needs 
air." 

The  words  were  English  ;  the  accent  unmis- 
takably American.  Barth  pinched  his  lids 
together  in  a  sturdy  determination  not  to  man- 
ifest any  interest  in  his  alien  champion.  For 
that  reason,  he  missed  the  imperative  gesture 
which  explained  the  words  to  the  crowd  ;  he 
missed  the  anxious,  kindly  light  in  Nancy 
Howard's  eyes,  as  she  elbowed  her  way  to  his 
side  and  bent  down  over  him. 

26 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXNE 

"You  are  hurt?  "  she  questioned  briefly. 

Even  in  this  strait,  Barth  remained  true  to 
his  training.  He  opened  his  eyes  for  the 
slightest  possible  glance  at  the  broad  black  hat 
above  him.  Then  he  shut  them  languidly 
once  more. 

"  Rather  !  "  he  answered,  with  equal  brevity. 

The  corners  of  Nancy's  mouth  tv,'itched 
ominously.  It  was  not  thus  that  her  ministra- 
tions were  wont  to  be  received.  Accustomed 
to  fulsome  gratitude,  the  absolute  indifference 
of  this  stranger  both  amused  and  piqued  her. 

"  You  are  American  ?  "  she  asked. 

This  time,  Earth's  eyes  remained  open. 

"  English,"  he  returned  laconically. 

Again  Nancy's  lips  twitched. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  might  have  known," 
she  answered,  with  a  feigned  contrition  whose 
irony  escaped  her  companion.  ''  But  you 
speak   French  ? " 

"  Not  this  kind.  I  shall  have  to  leave  it  to 
you."  In  spite  of  the  racking  pain  in  his 
ankle,  Barth  v/as  gaining  energy  to  rebel  at 
his  short  sight  and  the  loss  of  his  glasses.  It 
would  have  been  interesting  to  get  a  good  look 
into  the  face  of  this  intrepid  young  woman  who 
had  come  to  his  rescue. 

She  received  his  last  statement  a  little  blankly. 

27 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  But  I  don't  speak  any  French  of  any  kind," 
she  confessed. 

"  How  unusual !  "  Barth  murmured,  with 
vague  courtesy. 

Nancy  rose  from  her  knees  and  dusted  off 
her  skirt. 

"  I  don't  see  why.  I  've  never  been  abroad, 
and  we  don't  habitually  speak  French  at  home," 
she  answered  a  little  resentfully. 

Barth  made  no  reply.  All  the  energy  he 
could  spare  from  bearing  the  pain  of  his  ankle 
was  devoted  to  the  study  of  how  he  could 
get  himself  out  of  his  present  position.  His 
gravelly  resting-place  was  uncomfortable,  and 
it  appeared  to  him  that  his  foot  was  swelling 
to  most  unseemly  dimensions.  Nevertheless, 
he  had  no  intention  of  throwing  himself  upon 
the  mercy  of  a  strange  American  girl  of  un- 
known years  and  ancestry.  Raising  himself  on 
his  elbow,  he  addressed  the  bystanders  in  the 
best  Parisian  French  at  his  command.  The 
bystanders  stared  back  at  him  uncomprehend- 
ingly. 

Standing  beside  him,  Nancy  saw  his  dilemma, 
saw,  too,  the  bluish  ring  about  his  lips.  Her 
amused  resentment  gave  place  to  pity. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  badly  hurt,"  she  said 
gently. 

28 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

''  Yes." 

"  Where  is  it?  " 

"  My  ankle." 

"  Sprained  ? " 

"  Broken,  I  am  afraid."  Earth's  answers 
still  were  brief;  but  now  it  was  the  brevity  of 
utter  meekness,  not  of  arrogance. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not!"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
can't  walk  at  all  P  " 

Gritting  his  teeth  together,  Barth  struggled 
up  into  a  sitting  posture. 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  It  was  foolish  to  faint ; 
but  I  hit  my  head  as  I  went  down,  and  the 
blow  knocked  me  out." 

As  he  spoke,  he  bent  forward  and  tried  to 
reach  the  laces  of  his  shoe.  With  a  swift  ges- 
ture, Nancy  forestalled  him  and  deftly  slipped 
the  shoe  from  the  swollen  ankle.  Her  quick 
eye  caught  the  fact  that  few  of  her  friends  at 
home  could  match  the  quality  of  the  stocking 
within.  Then  her  glance  roved  to  his  necktie, 
and  she  smiled  approvingly  to  herself.  In  her 
girlish  mind,  Barth  would  pass  muster. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  nothing  especially 
heroic  about  him,  as  he  sat  there  on  the  gravel 
with  his  ankle  clasped  in  his  hands  and  the 
color  rising  and  dying  in  his  cheeks.  A  man 
barely    above    the    middle    height,    spare    and 

29 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

sinewy  and  without  an  ounce  of  extra  flesh, 
Cecil  Barth  was  in  no  way  remarkable.  His 
features  were  good,  his  hair  was  tawny  yellow, 
and  his  near-sighted  eyes  were  clear  and  blue. 

"  Where  can  I  find  a  surgeon  ? "  he  asked, 
after  a  little  pause. 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  —  "  Nancy  hesi- 
tated ;  then  she  added  directly,  "  My  father  is 
a  doctor." 

He  nodded. 

"And  speaks  English?''  he  queried. 

Nancy  bravely  suppressed  her  laughter. 

"  New  York  English,"  she  replied  gravely. 

And  Barth  answered  with  perfect  good 
faith,  ~ 

"  That  will  do.  They  are  not  so  very  dif- 
ferent, and  we  can  understand  each  other  quite 
well,  I  dare  say.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

The  girl  pointed  towards  the  crest  of  the 

bluff. 

"  He  is  at  the  Gagnier  farm." 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  send  some  one  for 
him  ?  "  Barth  asked  courteously. 

She  glanced  about  her  at  the  group  of 
French  faces,  and  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  never  can  make  them  understand,"  she 
objected.     "  I  'd  better  go,  myself." 

But,  in  his  turn,  Barth  offered  an  objection. 

30 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  Oh,  don't  go  and  leave  me,"  he  urged  a 
little  piteously.  "  I  might  go  off  again,  you 
know.** 

"  But  you  just  said  you  could  n't  walk  ?  " 
Nancy  responded,  in  some  surprise,  for,  granted 
that  the  stranger  was  able  to  remove  himself, 
she  could  see  no  reason  whatsoever  that  he 
should  not  feel  free  to  do  so. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  can't  walk  a  step.  My  foot 
is  broken,"  he  answered  rather  testily,  as  a 
fresh  twinge  ran  through  his  ankle. 

"  Then  how  can  you  go  off,  I  'd  like  to 
know." 

Barth  stared  at  her  uncomprehendingly  for 
a  moment.  Then  a  light  broke  in  upon  his 
brain. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  You  don't  understand.  I 
meant  that  I  might  faint  away,"  he  explained. 

Nancy's  reply  struck  him  as  being  a  trifle 
unsympathetic. 

"  Well,  what  if  you  did  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"  I  can't  be  in  two  places  at  once,  and  these 
people  won't  eat  you  up.  Make  up  your  mind 
that  you  won't  faint,  and  then  you  probably 
won  t. 

Barth  peered  up  at  her  uneasily. 

"  Are  you  —  are  you  a  Christian  Scientist  ?  " 
he  asked. 

31 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy's  laugh  rang  out  gayly. 

"  Did  n't  I  say  my  father  was  a  doctor  ?  "  she 
reminded  him.  "  Now  please  do  lie  still  and 
save  your  strength,  and  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do 
about  it  all." 

She  was  gone  from  his  side  only  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  came  flying  back,  flushed 
and  eager. 

"Such  luck  !  "  she  said.  "  Right  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  I  found  Pere  Gagnier  and  the  cab- 
bage cart,  just  coming  home  from  market.  He 
will  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  he  talks  French. 
Some  of  these  people  will  carry  you  to  the 
cart,  and  you  can  be  driven  right  up  to  the 
door.  That  will  take  so  much  less  time  than 
the  sending  for  my  father;  and,  besides,  even 
if  he  came  down,  you  could  n't  be  left  lying 
here  on  the  gravel  walk  for  an  indefinite  period. 
You  would  be  arrested  for  blocking  the  path 
of  the  pilgrims,  to  say  nothing  of  having  relays 
of  cripples  crutching  themselves  along  over 
you. 

In  her  relief  at  having  solved  the  situation, 
she  paid  no  heed  to  the  stream  of  nonsense 
coming  from  her  lips.  Earth's  stare  recalled 
her  to  self-consciousness. 

"  No,  really,"  he  answered  stiffly. 

32 


BY   THE    GOOD    SAIXTE   ANNE 

"  Well,  daddy  ?  " 

At  the  question,  Dr.  Howard  looked  up. 
Still  a  little  breathless  and  dishevelled  by  her 
hurried  scramble  up  the  hill,  Nancy  stood 
before  him,  anxiety  in  her  eyes  and  a  laugh  on 
her  lips. 

"  How  is  the  British  Lion  ^  " 

"  Most  uncommonly  disagreeable,"  the  doc- 
tor answered,  with  unwonted  energy. 

"  So  I  found  out ;  but  he  has  occasional 
lucid  intervals.      How  is  his  ankle  ?  " 

"  Bad.  For  his  own  sake,  I  wish  he  had 
broken  it  outright.  Nancy,  what  am  I  going 
to  do  with  the  fellow  ?  " 

Nancy  dropped  down  into  a  chair,  and 
smoothed  her  ruffled  hair  into  some  semblance 
of  order. 

"  Cure  him,"  she  answered  nonchalantly. 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  takes  two  to  make  a  cure." 

"  Then  hire  Pere  Gagnier  to  cart  him  back 
to  Sainte  Anne  again,  and  let  her  try  her  finger 
upon  him." 

In  spite  of  himself,  the  doctor  laughed. 
Then  he  grew  grave  again. 

"  It 's  not  altogether  funny,  Nancy.      You 
have  unloaded  a  white  elephant  on  my  hands, 
and  I  can't  see  what  to  do  with  it." 
3  33 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  *'  she  questioned,  for 
she  was  quick  to  read  the  anxiety  in  her  father's 
tone. 

"  The  man  speaks  no  French  that  these 
people  here  can  understand,  and  he  is  going 
to  be  helpless  for  a  few  days.  How  is  he 
going  to  have  proper  care?" 

"  Send  him  in  to  Quebec.  There  must  be 
a  hospital  there." 

"  I  won't  take  the  risk  of  moving  him  ;  not 
for  ten  days,  at  least." 

"  Hm  !  "  Nancy's  falling  inflection  was 
thoughtful.  "  And  you  came  here  to  get  away 
from  all  professional  worry.  Daddy,  it 's  a 
shame  !  I  ought  never  to  have  had  him  brought 
here." 

Pausing  in  his  tramp  up  and  down  the 
room.  Dr.  Howard  rested  his  hand  on  the  pile 
of  auburn  hair. 

"  It  was  all  you  could  do,  Nancy.  One 
must    take   responsibilities    as   they   come." 

Nancy  broke  the  pause  that  followed.  Ris- 
ing, she  pinned  on  her  hat. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  the  station.  I  '11  telegraph  to  Quebec 
for  a  nurse.  We  can  have  one  out  here  by 
night.  Good  by,  daddy  ;  and  don't  let  the 
Lion  eat  you  up." 

34 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXNE 

More  than  an  hour  later,  she  came  toiling 
up  the  hill  and  dropped  wearily  down  on  the 
steps. 

"  No  use,  daddy  !  I  have  exhausted  every 
chance,  and  there 's  not  a  nurse  to  be  had. 
Quebec  appears  to  be  in  the  throes  of  an  epi- 
demic. However,  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
what  to  do  next." 

''  What  now  ?  " 

"  I  shall  turn  nurse. 

"  Nancy,  you  can't !  " 

"  I  must.  You  're  not  strong  enough,  and 
such  a  curiosity  as  this  man  must  n't  be  left  to 
die  alone.  Besides,  it  will  be  fun,  and  Mother 
Gagnier  will  help  me." 

'^  But  you  don't  know  anything  about  nurs- 
ing. 

"  I  won*t  kill  him.  You  can  coach  me  be- 
hind the  scenes,  and  I  shall  scramble  through, 
some  way  or  other.  Besides,  the  Good  Sainte 
Anne  will  help  me.  I  've  just  been  tipping 
her,  for  the  way  she  has  come  to  my  relief 
Only  this  morning,  I  promised  her  half  a  dol- 
lar, if  she  would  deign  to  give  me  a  little  ex- 
citement." Then  the  girl  turned  still  more 
directly  to  her  father,  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  wayward,  mocking,  tender  eyes.  ''  Daddy 
dear,  this  is  n't  the  only   emergency  we  have 

35 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

met,  side  by  side.  Mother  Gagnier  shall  do 
all  the  rougher  part ;  the  rest  you  shall  leave 
to  me.  Truly,  have  you  ever  known  me  to 
fail  you  at  the  wrong  time?" 

And  the  doctor  answered,  with  perfect  truth- 
fulness, — 

"  No,  Nancy  ;  I  never  have." 


36 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

OUT  on  the  end  of  the  long  pier  that  juts 
far  into  the  Saint  Lawrence,  Nancy 
Howard  was  idly  tossing  scraps  of  paper  into 
the  choppy  surface  of  the  mighty  river.  Be- 
hind her,  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  was  rapidly 
putting  on  her  winter  guise.  The  last  pil- 
grimage ended,  the  good  saint  lost  no  time  in 
packing  up  her  relics  for  safe  keeping,  until 
the  next  year's  pilgrims  should  turn  their  faces 
towards  her  shrine.  Nancy  had  returned  from 
the  telegraph  office,  two  days  before,  past  rows 
of  dismantled  booths  and  of  shops  whose  pro- 
prietors were  already  taking  inventory  of  their 
remaining  possessions.  The  heaped-up  mis- 
sals and  rosaries  made  little  impression  upon 
her;  but  even  her  stalwart  Protestantism  re- 
belled at  sight  of  the  bare-armed  priestess  who 
was  scrubbing  a  plaster  Virgin  with  suds  and  a 
nailbrush.  Nancy  would  have  preferred  the 
more  impersonal  cleansing  administered  by  the 
garden  hose. 

Even   Nancy  Howard  had  been    forced   to 
admit  that  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  had  earned 

37 


BY  THE    GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

her  money.  Excitement  had  not  been  lack- 
ing, during  the  past  two  days.  It  was  one 
thing  to  come  to  her  father's  aid  with  an  offer 
to  play  nurse  ;  it  was  quite  another  matter  to 
give  several  hours  of  each  day  to  the  whims  of 
a  man  who  was  as  unused  to  pain  as  he  was  to 
the  thwarting  of  his  plans.  Nancy  had  ex- 
pected a  playful  bit  of  masquerade.  She 
promptly  discovered  that  she  was  doomed  to 
work  as  she  had  never  worked  before.  She 
had  informed  Barth  that  it  was  her  custom  to 
leave  all  financial  arrangements  in  the  hands  of 
the  doctor.  She  had  no  idea  what  value  it 
might  have  pleased  her  father  to  set  upon  her 
services.  She  had  a  very  distinct  idea,  how- 
ever, that,  whatever  the  value,  she  fully  earned 
it.  Arrogant  and  desponding,  masterful  and 
peevish  by  turns,  Cecil  Barth  was  no  easy 
patient.  Accustomed  all  his  Hfe  to  being 
served,  he  now  had  less  notion  than  ever  of 
lifting  a  finger  to  serve  himself  Moreover, 
Nancy  Howard  had  a  rooted  objection  to  be- 
ing smoked  at.  Her  objection  was  based  upon 
chivalry,  not  antipathy  to  nicotine ;  never- 
theless, it  was  active  and  permanent.  She 
only  regained  her  lost  poise,  when  she  tried 
to  reduce  to  systematic  orthography  the  un- 
spellable    accent    of  her  patient,  most   of  all 

38 


BY    THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

that  prolonged  Oh-er^  raahther !  which  ap- 
peared to  represent  his  superlative  degree  of 
comparison. 

"Oh,  nurse?" 

Earth's  voice  met  her  on  the  threshold,  as, 
capped  with  a  bit  of  lawn  and  covered  with  an 
ample  apron  from  the  wardrobe  of  Madame 
Gagnier,  she  opened  the  door  of  the  invalid's 
room. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  thought  you  would  never  come  back." 

''You  have  needed  something?  " 

"  Yes.  The  room  is  too  warm,  and  I  think 
it  is  time  for  the  rubbing." 

"  Not  for  fifteen  minutes,"  Nancy  answered 
calmly.  "  I  told  you  I  would  be  back  in 
time." 

"  Yes.      But  it  is  so  Vv'arm  here." 

"Why  did  n't  you  call  Madame  Gagnier  to 
open  a  window  ?  " 

"  Because  she  is  so  very  clumsy.  Please 
open  it  now." 

Nancy  repressed  a  sudden  longing  to  cross 
the  room  on  her  heels.  Barth  was  sitting  up, 
that  day  ;  but  the  lines  around  his  lips  and  the 
brilliant  patch  of  scarlet  on  either  cheek  be- 
trayed the  fact  that  the  past  two  days  had 
worn  upon  him. 

39 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Is  your  foot  aching  now  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
she  returned  to  her  seat. 

"Yes,  intensely.  Do  you  suppose  that  doctor 
knows  how  to  treat  it  ?  " 

Nancy*s  eyes  flashed. 

"  He  ought  to,"  she  answered  shortly. 

Barth  turned  argumentative. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  obligation ;  it  is  a 
mere  matter  of  training  and  experience,"  he 
observed. 

"  He  is  the  best  doctor  in  the  city,'*  Nancy 
persisted. 

"  In  Quebec  ?  " 

"  No  ;  at  home." 

For  the  dozenth  time  since  his  catastrophe, 
Barth  regretted  the  loss  of  his  glasses.  Nancy's 
tone  betrayed  her  irritation.  Unable  to  see  her 
face  distinctly,  he  was  also  unable  to  fathom  the 
cause  of  her  displeasure.  He  peered  at  her 
dubiously  for  a  moment;  then  he  dropped 
back  in  his  chair. 

"  Very  likely,"  he  agreed  languidly.  "  Now 
will  you  please  move  the  foot-rest  a  very  little 
to  the  right? " 

"  So  ?  " 

"Yes.     Thank  you,  nurse." 

"  Is  there  anything  else  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  table  at  his  elbow. 

40 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  My  pipe,  please  ;  and  then  if  you  would  n't 
mind  reading  aloud  for  a  time." 

Nancy  did  mind  acutely  ;  but  she  took  up 
the  book  with  an  outward  showing  of  indiffer- 
ence, while  Barth  composed  himself  to  smoke 
and  doze  at  his  pleasure. 

For  a  long  hour,  Nancy  read  on  and  on. 
Now  and  then  she  glanced  out  at  the  sunshiny 
lawn  beneath  the  window  ;  now  and  then  she 
looked  up  at  her  patient,  wondering  if  he  would 
never  bid  her  cease.  In  spite  of  her  rebellion 
at  her  captivity,  however,  she  was  forced  to 
admit  that  Barth  had  his  redeeming  traits. 
His  faults  were  of  race  and  training  ;  his  vir- 
tues were  his  own  and  wholly  likable.  More- 
over, in  all  essential  points,  he  was  a  gentleman 
to  the  very  core  of  his  soul  and  the  marrow  of 
his  bones. 

"  '  Still  of  more  moment  than  all  these  cures, 
are  the  graces  which  God  has  given,  and  con- 
tinues to  give  every  day,  through  the  inter- 
cession of  good  Sainte  Anne,  to  many  a  sinner 
for  conversion  to  better  life.'  "  Nancy's  quiet 
contralto  voice  died  away,  and  M.  Morel's  old 
story  dropped  from  her  hands.  Earth's  eyes 
were  closed,  and  she  decided  that  he  had 
dropped  to  sleep ;  but  his  voice  showed  her 
mistake. 

41 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  It 's  a  queer  old  story.  Do  you  believe  it 
all,  nurse  ?  " 

A  sudden  spice  of  mischief  came  into  Nancy's 
tone. 

"  Yes,  and  no.  I  doubt  the  epilepsy  and 
paralysis ;  it  remains  to  be  seen  about  the 
conversions  to  a  better  life." 

"  I  suppose  one  could  tell  by  following  up 
the  cases,"   Barth  said  thoughtfully. 

"  Certainly."  Nancy's  accent  was  incisive. 
"  I   accept  nothing  on  trust." 

Barth  took  a  prolonged  pull  at  his  pipe. 

"  But  it 's  not  so  easy  to  follow  up  cases  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  old,"  he  suggested. 

Nancy  laughed. 

"  No  ;  I  '11  content  myself  with  the  modern 
ones." 

"  Do  you  suppose  there  are  any  modern 
ones  r 

"  Oh,  yes.  The  priests  claim  that  there  are 
several  new  cases,  every  year." 

"And  you  can  get  on  the  track  of  them  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  a  sudden  show  of  interest. 

"  Surely.  I  have  my  eye  on  one  of  them 
now,"  Nancy  responded  gravely. 

"  A  Sainte  Anne  miracle  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Tell  me  where  it  is  ?"  he  urged. 

42 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can't.  It  concerns  somebody  besides 
myself,"  she  replied,  with  a  decision  which  he 
felt  it  would  be  useless  to  question. 

There  was  a  prolonged  pause.  It  was  Barth 
who  broke  it. 

"  Strange  we  never  heard  of  the  place  at 
home  !"  he  said  reflectively. 

"  How  long  since  you  came  here?  "  Nancy 
asked,  rather  indifferently. 

"Two  v/eeks." 

"And  you  like  it?" 

"  For  a  change.  It  is  a  change  from  the 
'Varsity,  though." 

"  Which  was  your  university  ?  "  she  inquired, 
less  from  any  interest  in  the  answer  than  be- 
cause she  could  see  that  her  patient  was  in  an 
autobiographical  frame  of  mind,  and  even  her 
brief  experience  of  mankind  had  taught  her  to 
let  such  moods  have  their  way. 

"  Kings,  at  Cambridge.  I  was  at  Eton 
before  that." 

"  What  sent  you  out  here?  " 
/  "  Ranching.      My  brother  went  in   for  the 
army,  and  we  did  n't  care   to   have   two  of  a 
kind  in  the  same  family." 

"  It  might  be  a  little  monotonous,"  she 
assented  gravely.    "  But  where  is  your  ranch  ?  " 

43 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  I  have  n't  any  yet.  I  am  stopping  in 
Quebec  for  the  winter,  and  I  shall  go  out,  early 
in  the  spring." 

"  Is  Quebec  a  pleasant  place?"  she  asked, 
as  she  crossed  the  room  to  the  window  and 
stood  looking  out  at  the  river  beneath. 

"It's  rather  charming,  only  I  don't  know 
anybody  there." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  acquainted,  then  ?  " 
"  How  can  I  ?     I  brought  some  letters  ;  but 
the  people  have  moved  to  Vancouver." 

"  Yes  ;  but  they  are  n't  the  only  people  in 
Quebec." 

"  Of  course  not ;  but  I  don't  know  any  of 
the  others." 

"  But  you  can  ?  " 
"  How  ?  "   Barth  queried  blankly. 
"  Why,  talk  to  them,  do  the  things  they  do 
—  oh,  just  get  acquainted  ;  that's  all,"  the  girl 
answered,  with  some  impatience. 

He  raised  his  brows  inquiringly.  It  was  not 
the  first  time  that  Nancy  had  been  annoyed  by 
the  expression. 

"  Talk  to  people,  before  you  have  been  in- 
troduced to  them  ?  " 
"  Yes.     Why  not  ?  " 
"  No  reason  ;  only  it 's  not  our  way." 
"  Whose  way  ?  " 

44 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  The  way  we  English  people  do." 

"  Oh,  what  a  Britisher  you  are  !  "  she  said, 
with  a  momentary  impatience  that  led  her  to 
forget  her  self-imposed  role  as  hireling. 

His  lips  straightened. 

"  Certainly.     Why  not  ?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

Baffled,  she  attempted  another  line  of 
attack. 

"  But  you  were  never  introduced  to  me,"  she 
told  him. 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  And  you  talk  to  me." 

"Yes.      But  that  is  different." 

"  How  different  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"You  are  my  nurse." 

Her  color  came  hotly. 

"  I  wasn't  at  first." 

Too  late  she  repented  her  rashness,  as  Mr. 
Cecil  Barth  made  languid  answer,  — 

"  No.  Still,  if  I  remember  clearly,  it  was 
you  who  first  spoke  to  me.     Oh,  —  nurse  !  " 

But  the  door  banged  sharply,  and  Barth 
found  himself  alone  with  his  ankle  and  with 
his  thoughts. 

''Where  is  the  nurse?"  he  asked  Dr. 
Howard,  a  long  hour  later. 

"  She  went  out  for  a  walk." 

"  Again  ? " 

45 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Yes.     Have  you  needed  her  ?  " 

"Not  exactly;  but  — "  Barth  hesitated. 
Then,  like  the  honest  Englishman  he  was,  he 
went  straight  to  the  point.  "  The  fact  is,  doctor, 
I  am  afraid  I  said  something  that  vexed  her.  I 
did  n't  mean  to  ;  I  really  had  no  idea  of  annoy- 
ing her.  I  should  dislike  to  hurt  her  feelings, 
for  she  has  been  very  good  to  me." 

For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance.  Dr. 
Howard  could  confess  to  a  liking  for  his 
patient.  Nevertheless,  he  only  nodded  curtly, 
as  he  said,  — 

"  You  could  n't  have  had  a  better  or  more 
loyal  nurse." 

According  to  her  custom,  Nancy  remained 
on  duty,  that  evening,  until  nine  o'clock. 
Then  she  moved  softly  up  and  down,  setting 
the  room  in  order  for  the  night.  Barth  had 
been  lying  quiet,  staring  idly  up  at  the 
mammoth  shadow  of  Madame  Gagnier,  rock- 
ing to  and  fro  just  outside  the  door.  Then, 
as  Nancy  paused  beside  him,  he  turned  to 
face  her. 

"Can  I  do  anything  more,  sir?"  she  asked, 
with  the  gentle  seriousness  which  marked  her 
moods  now  and  then. 

"  Nothing,  thank  you.  I  am  quite  comfort- 
able." 

46 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXXE 

"  I  am  glad.  1  hope  you  may  have  a  quiet 
niorht." 

"  Thank  you.  I  hope  I  may.  You  have 
been  very  good  to  me,  nurse,  and  — "  his 
speech  hurried  itself  a  little  ;  "  I  appreciate  it. 
As  I  understand,  your  wa — salary  is  paid 
through  the  doctor  ;  but  perhaps  some  little 
thing  that —  " 

His  gesture  was  too  swift  and  sure  to  be 
avoided.  The  next  instant,  Nancy  Howard 
found  herself  stalking  out  of  the  room  with 
blazing  cheeks  and  with  a  shining  golden 
guinea  clasped  in  the  hot  palm  of  her  left 
hand. 


47 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

AT  her  window  looking  out  upon  the  Ring 
in  the  ancient  Place  d'Armes  and  upon 
the  Chateau  beyond,  Nancy  Howard  stood 
idly  drumming  on  the  pane.  Under  its  gray 
October  sky,  the  gray-walled  city  of  Quebec 
had  appeared  most  alluring  to  her,  that  morn- 
ing;  but  she  had  turned  her  back  upon  its 
invitation  and  had  resolutely  busied  herself  in 
settling  her  own  possessions  and  those  of  her 
father  in  the  rooms  which  had  been  waiting  for 
them  at  The  Maple  Leaf. 

Nancy  had  left  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  with 
scant  regret,  the  night  before.  She  had  spent 
numberless  interesting  hours  in  the  society  of 
Mr.  Cecil  Barth.  He  had  piqued  her,  antag- 
onized her  and  occasionally  had  even  compelled 
her  to  like  him  in  spite  of  herself.  However, 
the  whole  episode  had  been  forced  upon  her. 
Nov/  that  it  was  ended,  she  was  glad  to  dismiss 
it  entirely  into  the  past,  and  she  had  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  inform  Barth  that  she 

too  expected  to  pass  some  weeks  in  Quebec. 

48 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

There  was-  scant  chance  of  their  meeting  again, 
and  Nancy  had  Imagined  that  she  had  parted 
from  him  without  regret. 

On  his  side,  Barth  had  been  at  no  pains  to 
conceal  his  regrets.  As  Dr.  Howard  had  re- 
minded him,  Nancy  had  been  a  most  loyal 
nurse;  and  the  young  Englishman  took  it 
quite  as  a  matter  of  course  that  his  attendant 
should  be  a  girl  of  brains  and  breeding  as  well. 
He  had  heard  much  of  the  American  college 
girl,  and  he  promptly  pigeonholed  Nancy  with 
others  of  that  class,  although  in  fact  she  had 
been  educated  by  her  father  and  polished  by  a 
year  or  so  spent  at  a  famous  old  school  on  the 
Hudson.  Barth  admired  Nancy's  brains,  her 
common  sense  and  her  alert  deftness.  To  his 
mind,  these  qualities  In  part  atoned  for  her 
Independence  and  her  hot-headed  American- 
Ism  ;  but  only  In  part.  Her  society  was  often 
restful,  but  never  cloying;  and  Barth,  now 
able  to  hobble  about  his  room,  peered  mourn- 
fully out  of  his  window  after  his  departing 
nurse  with  feelings  akin  to  those  of  a  youngster 
suddenly  deprived  of  his  best  mechanical  toy. 
Bereft  of  his  nurse,  he  took  to  his  pipe,  smoked 
himself  Into  lethargy,  and  emerged  from  his 
lethargy  so  cross  that  Madame  Gagnier,  lum- 
bering Into  the  room  to  settle  him  for  the 
4  49 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

night,  fled  from  his  presence  with  her  cap  awry 
and  her  checked  pinafore  pressed  to  her  aged 
eyes. 

Dusk  had  fallen,  when  Nancy  and  her  father 
drove  up  the  steep  slope  of  Palace  Hill,  passed 
the  Basilica  and  stopped  at  the  low  yellow  door 
of  The  Maple  Leaf.  Of  the  city  Nancy  saw 
but  little.  Of  The  Maple  Leaf,  glaring  with 
electric  lights,  she  saw  much  and,  even  at  the 
first  glance,  she  assured  herself  that  that  much 
was  wholly  to  her  liking.  It  was  not  alone  the 
curved  ceiling  of  the  entrance  hallway,  nor  the 
cheery  little  dining-room  where  the  four  tables 
and  the  huge  mahogany  sideboard  struggled 
not  to  elbow  each  other  in  their  close  quarters  ; 
nor  yet  the  deep  window-seats  of  the  rooms 
with  their  French  casements  and  their  panelled 
shutters.  It  was  the  nameless  flavor  of  the 
place,  pervading  all  things  and  beautifying  all 
things,  the  flavor  of  nothing  in  the  world  but 
of  old  Quebec.  The  Chateau  might  exist  any- 
where ;  The  Maple  Leaf  could  have  existed 
nowhere  outside  of  the  ancient  city  wall. 

"  Don't  you  love  it,  daddy  ?  "  Nancy  urged 
for  the  third  time,  as  they  came  up  from  their 
late  supper. 

"  It  seems  very  central,"  the  doctor  assented 
tranquilly.     "  Of  course,  it  is  a  great  advantage 

50 


BY   THE    GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

for  me  to  be  so  near  Laval.      I  only  hope  you 
won't  be  lonely  here,  Nancy." 

She  laug;hed  scornfully. 

"  Lonely  !  After  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  !  " 
she  protested. 

"  The  town  is  often  a  good  deal  more  lonely 
than  the  country,"  he  assured  her. 

But  Nancy,  whose  eyes  had  not  been  en- 
tirely busy  with  the  furniture  of  the  dining- 
room,  shook  her  head.  Then  she  went  into 
her  own  room,  to  fall  asleep  and,  quite  as  a 
matter  of  course,  to  dream  that  JNIr.  Cecil 
Barth,  Union  Jack  in  hand,  was  chasing  her 
around  and  around  the  little  fountain  she  could 
hear  plashing  down  in  the  Ring. 

All  the  next  morning,  Nancy  was  busy  in 
their  two  adjoining  rooms,  hanging  up  her 
gowns  and  trying  to  devise  an  arrangement 
which  should  keep  her  father's  shirts  from  too 
close  connection  with  his  bottle  of  ink.  Now 
and  then  she  halted  beside  his  windows  which 
looked  down  on  a  gray-walled  courtyard  where 
an  aged  habitant  sat  on  a  chopping-block  and 
peeled  potatoes  without  end.  Occasionally 
she  wandered  back  to  her  own  room,  and  stood 
gazing  out  at  the  Champlain  statue  by  the 
northern  end  of  the  terrace  and  at  the  pointed 
copper  roofs  of  the  huge  Chateau.     Then  she 

51 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

went  on  brushing  her  father's  clothes,  and  sort- 
ing out  her  own  tangle  of  gloves  and  belts  and 
the  kindred  trifles  that  add  a  touch  of  chaos  to 
even  the  most  orderly  of  trunks.  At  last, 
her  work  done,  she  smoothed  her  hair,  tweaked 
her  gown  into  position  and,  without  a  glance 
into  the  long  mirror  of  her  wardrobe,  she  ran 
down  to  the  dining-room  in  search  of  her 
father. 

She  found  him  the  sole  occupant  of  a  table 
near  the  door,  and  the  other  tables  were  abso- 
lutely deserted.  As  she  went  back  to  her  room, 
Nancy  was  forced  to  admit  that  the  meal  had 
been  a  bit  dull.  A  father  and  daughter  who 
have  been  constant  companions  for  years,  are 
unable  to  produce  an  unfailing  stream  of  bril- 
liant table  talk  ;  and  Dr.  Howard,  tired  with 
the  effort  of  getting  his  bearings  in  a  strange 
library,  was  even  more  taciturn  than  was  his 
wont.  Accordingly,  it  was  in  a  mood  danger- 
ously akin  to  homesickness  that  Nancy  left 
the  empty  dining-room  and  returned  to  her 
equally  empty  bedroom.  Once  inside  the 
door,  she  made  the  mortifying  discovery  that 
her  lashes  were  wet ;  and,  with  a  swift  realiza- 
tion of  the  ignominy  of  her  mood,  she  caught 
up  her  hat  and  coat,  and  started  out  to  explore 
the  city  on  her  own  account. 

52 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

As  she  dressed  herself  for  supper,  two  nights 
later,  Nancy  confessed  to  herself  that  the  past 
two  days  were  the  dreariest  days  she  had  ever 
spent.  Totally  engrossed  in  his  historical 
research,  her  father  spent  his  daytime  hours  in 
poring  over  the  manuscripts  in  Laval  library, 
his  evening  in  rearranging  and  copying  his 
hurried  notes.  Left  entirely  to  herself,  Nancy 
discovered  the  truth  of  his  words,  that  a  town 
could  be  far  more  lonely  than  the  country. 
At  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre,  every  one  had 
had  a  word  of  greeting  for  the  bright-faced 
American  girl ;  here  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
had  no  more  personality  than  one  of  the  pawns 
on  a  chessboard.  She  walked  the  streets  by 
the  hour  at  a  time,  straying  at  random  from 
church  to  church,  loitering  on  the  terrace,  or 
tramping  swiftly  out  the  Grand  Allee  far  past 
the  Franciscan  convent  and  the  tollgate  beyond. 
The  tourist  season  was  almost  ended.  A  few 
honeymoon  couples  were  still  straying  bliss- 
fully about  the  ramparts  ;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  Quebec  had  come  back  from  summer 
quarters  on  lake  and  river,  and  was  settling 
into  winter  routine.  Nancy  watched  it  all  with 
wide,  interested,  dissatisfied  eyes.  The  show 
delighted  her;  but,  as  at  all  other  shows,  she 
felt  the  need  of  some  companion  whose  elbow 

53 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

she    could    joggle    in    moments    of    extreme 
excitement. 

As  a  part  of  the  show,  The  Maple  Leaf  had 
gratified  her  whole  artistic  sense.  Humanly 
speaking,  she  had  found  it  a  bit  disappointing. 
Manoeuvre  as  she  would,  she  could  never  suc- 
ceed in  finding  the  dining-room  full.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  utterly  inconsequent 
in  the  way  in  which  the  boarders  took  their 
meals,  now  late,  now  early,  and  now  apparently 
not  at  all.  She  had  been  told  that  there  were 
forty  of  them  ;  but,  so  far  as  she  could  dis- 
cover, six  constituted  a  quorum,  and  the  meal 
was  served  accordingly.  Once  only,  the  entire 
quorum  had  occurred  at  her  own  table.  Fou^ 
fresh-faced  elderly  Frenchmen  had  marched 
into  the  room  in  procession,  and  had  planted 
themselves  opposite  Nancy  and  her  father. 
Dr.  Howard  read  French,  but  spoke  it  not  at 
all.  Nancy  felt  that  her  own  three  words 
would  prove  inadequate.  Accordingly,  after 
one  international  deadlock  over  the  possession 
of  the  salt,  silence  had  fallen.  When  she  left 
the  table,  Nancy  felt  that  she  had  gained  a 
full  perception  of  the  viewpoint  of  a  deaf 
mute. 

It  was  with  a  spirit  of  absolute  desperation 
that  Nancy  flung  open  the  door  of  her  wardrobe, 

54 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

that  night.  Humanity  failing,  she  would  take 
refuge  in  clothes.  At  Sainte  Anne,  she  had 
lived  chiefly  in  a  short  skirt  and  blouse ;  at 
The  Maple  Leaf,  she  had  been  waiting  to 
discover  the  prevailing  habits  of  dress.  Now 
she  told  herself  that  two  women  at  a  time 
could  not  make  a  habit;  and,  furthermore,  she 
assured  herself  that  she  cared  nothing  for  local 
habits  anyway.  The  wardrobe  held  three  new 
gowns,  obviously  of  New  York  manufacture. 
Nancy  did  not  hesitate.  With  unerring  in- 
stinct, she  chose  the  most  ornate  one  of  the 
three,  which  also  chanced  to  be  the  one  which 
was  most  becoming. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Reginald  Brock, 
pausing  in  the  hall  to  take  off  his  overcoat, 
whistled  softly  to  himself  as  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  pale  gown  of  dusky  blue  and 
a  head  capped  with  heavy  coils  of  tawny  hair. 
The  coat  slid  off  in  a  hurry.  Brock  gave  one 
hurried  look  into  the  tiny  mirror  of  the  rack  ; 
then,  his  honest  Canadian  face  beaming  with 
content,  he  came  striding  into  the  dining-room 
and  dropped  into  his  place  at  Nancy's  side, 
with  a  friendly  nod  of  greeting. 


55 


CHAPTER   SIX 

HALF  an  hour  later,  Brock  followed  Nancy 
into  the  parlor.  The  Lady  of  The 
Maple  Leaf  was  at  his  side,  and  Nancy  had  an 
instinctive  feeling  that  they  were  in  search  of 
her.      It  was  the  Lady  who  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Brock  has  just  been  talking  to  your 
father  in  the  hall,"  she  said ;  "  and  now  he 
has  asked  me  to  give  him  a  ceremonious  intro- 
duction to  you.  As  a  rule,  we  are  n't  so  cere- 
monious, here  in  Canada ;  but  Mr.  Brock 
insists  upon  it  that  the  butter-knife  and  the 
mustard  are  no  proper  basis  for  acquaintance." 

"  I  have  learned  a  thing  or  two  from  Johnny 
Bull,"  the  tall  Canadian  added,  as  he  placed  him- 
self in  the  window-seat  beside  Nancy's  chair. 

"Johnny  Bull?" 

"Yes,  an  English  fellow  that  has  been  stop- 
ping here  for  a  few  days.  Where  is  he  ?  I 
have  n't  seen  him  for  a  week,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  the  Lady. 

"  He  is  ill  ;  I  expect  him  back  in  a  day  or 
two.  Please  excuse  me.  I  hear  the  telephone  " 
And  she  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

56 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANXE 

Nancy  looked  after  her  regretfully.  Even 
during  the  three  days  she  had  been  there,  she 
had  gained  a  sound  liking  for  the  blithe  little 
woman,  always  busy,  never  hurried,  and  inva- 
riably at  leisure  for  a  friendly  word  with  any 
or  all  of  her  great  family  of  boarders.  Brock's 
glance  followed  that  of  Nancy. 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  remarkable  woman,"  he  as- 
sented gravely  to  her  unspoken  words.  For 
an  instant,  his  keen  gray  eyes  met  Nancy's 
eyes,  steadily,  yet  with  no  look  of  boldness. 
Then  his  tone  changed.  "  But  about  Johnny 
Bull.  He  is  a  revelation  to  the  house,  the  son 
of  a  stiff-backed  generation.  He  was  here  for 
a  week,  and  left  us  all  trying  to  get  his  accent 
and  to  imitate  his  manners." 

"  And  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

"  Gone.  The  Lady  says  he  is  ill.  I  hope 
we  did  n't  make  him  so.  Have  you  been  here 
long;,  Miss  Howard  ?" 

*'  Three  days." 

"  And  have  you  seen  anything  at  all  of 
Quebec?" 

"  Yes,  a  little.  I  have  been  to  the  Cathedral, 
and  the  Basilica,  and  the  Gray  Nunnery,  and 
the  Ursuline  Convent,  and  —  " 

"  You  appear  to  be  of  an  ecclesiastical  turn 
of  mind,"  Brock  suggested,  laughing. 

57 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  So  does  Quebec,"  she  retorted. 

He  laughed  again. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  does  to  a  stranger; 
but  wait  till  you  have  been  here  a  little 
longer." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  You  '11  forget  that  a  church  exists,  except 
the  one  you  go  to,  on  Sundays." 

She  laughed  in  her  turn. 

"  Not  unless  I  grow  deaf.  The  Ursuline 
bell  begins  to  ring  at  four,  and  the  one  on  the 
Basilica  at  half-past.  From  that  time  on  until 
midnight,  the  bells  never  stop  for  one  single 
instant.  Under  such  circumstances,  how  can 
one  forget  that  a  church  exists  ^  " 

He  modified  his  statement. 

"I  mean  that  you'll  find  that  Quebec  has 
its  worldly  side." 

"Which  side?"  she  queried.  "As  far  as 
I  can  discover,  the  city  is  bounded  on  the 
north  by  the  Gray  Nuns,  and  on  the  south 
by  the  Franciscan  sisters.  Moreover,  I  met 
Friar  Tuck  in  the  flesh,  down  in  Saint  Sauveur, 
yesterday." 

Brock  raised  his  brows  questioningly. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  your  explorations  have 
even  extended  into  Saint  Sauveur  ?  " 

"  Yes.       Still,    there    is    hope    for    me.       I 

58 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAIXTE   ANNE 

have  n't  been  to  the  Citadel  yet,  and  I  keep 
my  guide-book  strictly  out  of  sight." 

"  Out  of  mind,  too,  I  hope,"  he  advised  her. 
"  It  holds  one  error  to  every  two  facts,  and  the 
average  tourist  carries  awav  the  impression  that 
Montgomery  was  shot  in  mid-air,  like  a  hawk 
above  a  hen-roost.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  go 
and  listen  to  their  comments  upon  his  tablet." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Two  thirds  of  the  way  up  Cape  Diamond, 
above  Little  Champlain  Street.  It  is  labelled 
as  being  the  spot  where  Montgomery  fell ;  but, 
as  it  is  two  hundred  feet  above  the  road,  one 
can  only  infer  that  he  came  down  from  some- 
where aloft.  Is  this  your  first  visit  to  Quebec, 
Miss  Howard  ? " 

"  Yes.  I  have  been  in  Sainte  Anne-de- 
Beaupre  for  three  w^eks,  though." 

"  Any  pilgrimages  ?  "  Brock  inquired,  as  he 
deliberately  settled  himself  in  a  less  tentative 
position  and  crossed  his  legs.  A  closer  inspec- 
tion of  Nancy  was  undermining  his  vigorous 
objection  to  red  hair,  and  he  suddenly  deter- 
mined that  the  parlor  was  a  much  more  attrac- 
tive spot  than  he  had  been  wont  to  suppose. 

"  One  ;  but  it  was  a  large  one." 

"  Miracles,  too  ?  " 

Nancy  laughed. 

59 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  One  and  a  half/'  she  responded  unex- 
pectedly. 

"  Meaning?  "  Brock  questioned. 

"  The  half  miracle  was  a  man  who  threw 
away  his  crutches  and  crawled  off  without 
them." 

"And  the  whole  one?  " 

Nancy  laughed  again.  Then  she  said  de- 
murely,— 

"  That  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  answered  my 
prayer  for  a  little  excitement." 

"  Was  that  a  miracle  ?  " 

She  answered  question  with  question. 

"  Did  you  ever  stop  at  Sainte  Anne  ?  " 

"  Yes,  once  for  the  space  of  two  hours.  We 
had  all  the  excitement  I  cared  for,  though." 

Nancy  sat  up  alertly. 

"  Was  it  a  pilgrimage  ?  " 

"  No  ;  merely  a  pig  on  the  track." 

She  nestled  back  again  in  the  depths  of  her 
chair. 

"What  anticlimax!  "  she  protested. 

"  But  you  have  n't  told  me  what  form  your 
own  excitement  took,"  Brock  reminded  her. 

"  It  was  an  Englishman." 

"  Oh,  we  're  used  to  those  things,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Then    I  pity  you,"  she  said,  with  an  ex- 

60 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

plosiveness  of  which  she  was  swift  to  repent. 
"  Ohj  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  added  con- 
tritely. "  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  them,  your- 
self." 

"  No  ;  merely  a  Canadian,"  Brock  reassured 
her. 

"  Is  n't  it  the  same  thing  ?  " 
A    mocking  light  came  into    Brock's    gray 
eyes. 

"  Not  always,"  he  replied  quietly. 
"No."      Nancy's  tone  was  thoughtful.     "I 
am  beginning  to  find  it  out.     Our    English- 
man was  unique." 
"  Ours  ?  " 

"  Yes,     by     adoption.      The     Good    Sainte 
Anne  and   I   took  him   in  charge." 
"  With  what  success  ?  " 

"  It  remains  to  be  seen.  We  did  our  best 
for  him ;  but  really  he  was  very  prepos- 
terous." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?  " 
''  Nothing." 
"  Nothing  ? " 

"No.  He  is  there  now;  at  least,  he  was 
there,  when  we  came  away." 

"  Was  he  working  out  his  novena.?  " 
"  No ;  just  mending  himself.      He   fell   off 
from  something,  his  dignity  most  likely,  and 

6i 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

bumped  his  head  and  sprained  his  ankle.  I 
happened  to  be  on  the  spot,  and  rashly  ad- 
mitted that  my  father  was  a  doctor.  Then, 
before  I  really  had  grasped  the  situation,  the 
poor  man  was  bundled  into  a  cart  and  de- 
posited at  our  door,  half  fainting  and  wholly 
out  of  temper." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  And  then  we  could  n't  get  a  nurse  for  love 
or  money,  and  I  had  to  go  to  work  and  take 
care  of  him." 

"  Happy  man  !  "  Brock  observed.  "  I  only 
hope  he  appreciated  his  luck." 

The  corners  of  Nancy's  mouth  curved  up- 
wards, and  a  malicious  light  came  into  her 
eyes. 

"  I  think  he  did.  He  not  only  expressed 
himself  as  pleased  with  my  services ;  but,  on 
one  occasion,  he  gave  me  a  — " 

"A  what?" 

"A  brand-new  guinea."  And  Nancy^s 
laugh  rang  out  so  infectiously  that  Brock 
would  have  joined  in  it,  if  she  had  been  dis- 
cussing the  foibles  of  himself  rather  than  of 
the  unknown  Englishman. 

"  How  exactly  like  our  Johnny  Bull  !  "  he 

commented,  when    he    found    his   voice    once 

more. 

62 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Suddenly    Nancy's    puritan    conscience    as- 
serted itself. 

"Truly,  I  ought  not  to  laugh  about  him, 
Mr.  Brock.  He  had  no  idea  that  I  was  any- 
thing but  a  servant,  and  he  thought  he  had 
every  reason  to  tip  me.  He  was  n't  bad,  only 
very  funny.  He  really  knew  a  great  deal 
and,  according  to  his  notions,  he  was  a  most 
perfect  gentleman.  It  was  only  that  our 
notions  clashed  sometimes.  Yes,  daddy, 
I  am  coming.  Good  night,  Mr.  Brock." 
And  she  left  him  staring  rather  wishfully 
after    the  disappearing  train  of  her  dull  blue 

gown. 

It  must  be  confessed  that    Brock    dawdled 

over  his  breakfast,  the  next  morning ;  but  his 

dawdling  was  quite  in  vain.     Nancy  had  taken 

her  own    breakfast   long  before    he   appeared, 

and,  by  the  time  Brock  had  reached  his  second 

cup  of  coffee,  she  was  walking  rapidly  along 

the  terrace  towards  the  Citadel.     At   the  end, 

she      paused     for    a    moment     of    indecision. 

Then,  with  a  glance  up    at    the   Union  Jack 

above  her  head,  she  slowly  mounted  the  long 

flight  of  steps  and  came   out  on   the   narrow 

upper  terrace  which  skirts  the  outer  wall  of  the 

fortress.     There  she  paused  again  and  stood, 

her  arms  folded  on  the  railing,  looking  down 

^5 


BY  THE    GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

on  the  picture  at  her  feet.  She  had  been  there 
once  before ;  to-day,  however,  the  impression 
was  keener,  more  enjoyable.  The  change 
might  have  come  from  the  sunshine  that  lay 
in  yellow  splashes  over  the  city  beneath ;  it 
might  have  come  in  part  from  the  memory  of 
her  idle  talk  with  Brock,  the  night  before. 
In  all  that  town  of  antiquity  and  of  strangers, 
it  had  been  good  to  meet  some  one  whose  age 
and  viewpoint  corresponded  to  her  own.  The 
direct  gaze  of  Brock's  clear  eyes  had  pleased 
Nancy.  She  had  liked  his  voice,  and  the 
unconscious  ease  with  which  he  carried  his 
seventy-three  inches  of  height.  To  outward 
seeming,  his  type  was  as  unfamiliar  as  that  of 
the  Englishman,  and  Nancy  liked  it  vastly 
better.  With  Barth,  she  had  been  standing 
on  tiptoe,  psychologically  speaking.  With 
Brock,  she  could  be  her  every-day,  normal 
self 

It  had  been  at  Brock's  suggestion  that  she 
had  gone  to  the  upper  terrace,  that  morning ; 
and  she  shook  off  the  memory  of  his  gray  eyes 
in  order  to  recall  the  dozen  sentences  with 
which  he  had  characterized  the  salient  points 
of  the  view  beneath.  Then  she  gave  up  the 
attempt.  In  the  face  of  all  that  beauty,  it  was 
impossible  to  fix  one's  mind  upon  mere  ques- 

64 


BY   THE    GOOD  SAINTE   ANNE 

tions  of  geography.  At  her  left,  the  city  sloped 
down  to  Saint  Roch  and  the  Charles  River 
beyond,  and  beyond  that  again  was  the  long 
white  village  of  Beauport  straggling  along  the 
bluff  above  the  river.  At  her  right,  quarter 
of  a  mile  beyond  the  Citadel,  were  the  ruined 
hillocks  of  the  old  French  fortifications  ;  and, 
on  the  opposite  shore,  the  town  of  Levis  was 
crested  with  its  trio  of  forts  and  dotted  with 
tapering  spires  of  gray.  From  one  of  the  piers 
below,  a  little  steamer  was  swinging  out  into 
midstream  and  heading  towards  the  point  where 
Sillery  church  overlooks  the  valley  ;  and,  close 
against  the  base  of  the  cliff,  the  irregular  roofs 
of  Champlain  Street  lay  huddled  in  a  long  line 
of  shadow.  The  river  was  shadowy,  too  ;  but 
above  the  city  a  rift  in  the  clouds  sent  the 
strong  sun  pouring  down  over  the  guns  on  the 
eastern  ramparts,  over  the  southern  tower  of 
the  Basilica  and  over  the  spires  of  Laval.  As 
she  looked,  Nancy  drew  a  long  breath  of  sheer 
delight  and,  all  at  once  and  for  no  assignable 
cause,  she  decided  that  she  was  glad  she 
had  come.  Then  abruptly  she  turned  her 
back  upon  a  tall  figure  crossing  Dufferin 
Terrace,  and  walked  swiftly  away  past  Cape 
Diamond  and  came  out  on  the  Cove  Fields 
beyond. 

5  65 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

When  she  came  in  to  dinner,  she  was  flushed 
and  animated.  As  Brock  had  predicted,  she 
had  discovered  that  Quebec's  interest  did  not 
centre  wholly  in  its  churches.  True,  there  had 
been  a  certain  disillusion  in  finding  a  portly 
Englishman  playing  golf  with  himself  upon 
the  ground  over  which  the  French  troops  had 
marched  out  to  face  the  invading,  conquering  foe, 
in  seeing  a  Martello  Tower  begirt  with  clothes- 
lines and  flapping  garments,  and  in  discovering 
a  brand-new  rifle  factory  risen  up.  Phoenix-like, 
from  the  ashes  of  the  old-time  battleground. 
The  impression  was  blurred  a  little  ;  neverthe- 
less, it  was  there,  and  Nancy,  as  her  feet  wan- 
dered up  and  down  the  trail  of  the  armies  upon 
that  thirteenth  of  September  of  the  brave  year 
*Fifty-nine,  took  a  curious  satisfaction  in  the 
fact  that  Wolfe,  too,  had  been  banned  with  a 
head  of  red  hair.  Her  own  ancestors  were  Eng- 
lish. Perhaps  some  of  their  kin  had  landed  at 
Sillery  Cove,  to  scale  the  cliff  and  die  like  gen- 
tlemen upon  the  Plains  of  Abraham.  Her 
blood  flowed  more  quickly  at  the  thought.  In 
Nancy's  mind,  this  was  the  hour  of  England. 
She  even  forgot  the  shining  golden  guinea  that 
reposed  among  her  extra  hairpins. 

Nancy  came  into  the  house  to  find  the  Lady 
packing  a  dinner  into  an  elaborate  system   of 

66 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

pails  and  cosies.     The  Lady  looked  up  with  a 
smile. 

''  Our  invahd  has  come  back  again,"  she 
explained;  "and  I  am  sending  his  dinner  over 
to  his  room." 


67 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 

"TTTELL,"  Brock  inquired,  three  days 
T  V  later ;  "  have  you  been  doing  eccle- 
siastics again,  to-day  ?  " 

Nancy,  glancing  up  from  her  soup,  regis- 
tered the  impression  that  Brock  supported  an 
extremely  good  tailor,  and  that  his  Sabbath 
raiment  was  becoming  to  him. 

"  Yes.  You  told  me  that  this  was  the  proper 
day  for  it." 

"  Where  did  you  go  ?  " 

'*^To  the  Basilica,  of  course." 

Brock  smiled. 

"  True  to  the  tradition  of  the  tourist.  By 
the  way,  that 's  rather  a  good  alliteration.  I 
think  I  '11  use  it  again  sometime." 

Nancy  disregarded  his  rhetorical  outburst 
and  pinned  her  attention  to  the  fact. 

"  Do  they  always  go  there  ^  " 

**Yes,  to  start  with.  Of  course,  you  did  n't 
stop  there." 

"But  I  did.     Why  not?" 

"  Miss  Howard,  you  have  neglected  your 
opportunities.     The    regular   tourist    itinerary 

68 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

begins  with  the  Basilica  at  ten,  sneaks  out  and 
goes  over  to  the  English  Cathedral  at  eleven 
and  follows  on  the  tail  of  the  band  when  it 
escorts  the  soldiers  home  to  the  Citadel.  Then 
it  takes  in  the  Ursuline  Chapel  at  two,  stops 
to  drop  a  tear  over  Montcalm's  skull  and  then 
skurries  off,  on  the  chance  of  getting  in  an 
extra  service  before  five-o'clock  Benedictions 
at  the  Franciscan  Convent." 

"  The  white  chapel  with  the  pale  green 
pillars  ?  " 

"  Yes,  out  on  the  Grand  AUee." 

"  I  've  been  there,"  she  assented.  "  I  love 
the  place." 

"And  then,"  Brock  continued  inexorably; 
"if  you  make  good  time  over  your  supper, 
you  can  just  get  back  to  the  Basilica  at 
seven." 

Nancy  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  But  I  don't  need  to  do  all  that,"  she  ob- 
jected.    "  There  are  more  Sundays  coming." 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  Every  stranger 
is  bound  to  gallop  through  his  first  Sunday  in 
Quebec.  It  is  one  of  the  duties  of  the  place. 
You  think  you  won't  do  it ;  but,  at  two 
o'clock,  you  '11  have  an  uneasy  consciousness 
that  those  cloistered  nuns  over  at  the  Ursuline 
may  do  something  or  other  worth  seeing.      By 

69 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

quarter  past  two,  you  '11  be  buried  in  a  haze  of 
mediaevalism  and  incense." 

"  Never  !  "  she  protested,  with  what  proved 
to  be  strict  adherence  to  truth. 

"And  what  about  the  Basilica?"  Brock 
asked  her. 

"Superb  !  "  Nancy's  eyes  lighted.  "  I  was 
there,  a  few  days  ago.  It  was  empty,  and  it 
didn't  impress  me  in  the  least.  It  seemed  to 
me  a  dead  weight  of  white  enamel  paint  and 
gold  leaf,  so  heavy  that  it  was  n't  even  cheer- 
ful.    But  to-day  —  " 

"  To-day  ?  "  he  echoed  interrogatively. 

But  Nancy  made  an  unexpected  digression. 

"  Mr.  Brock,  what  is  that  huge  pinky- 
purple  Tam  O'Shanter  dangling  above  the 
chancel  ?" 

"  Miss  Howard,  where  was  your  bump  of 
reverence,  and  where  were  your  guide-books  ?  " 

"  My  bump  of  reverence  was  fastened  down 
with  hatpins,  and  my  guide-books  are  buried 
in  the  bottom  of  my  trunk." 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  Since  I  made  the  discovery  that  Quebec 
must  be  inhaled,  not  analyzed,"  she  responded 
promptly. 

Brock  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
patted   his  hands  together  in   mock  applause. 

70 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXNE 

"  A  subtle  distinction.  Might  I  ask  whether 
It  appHes  to  the  incense  ?  " 

Nancy  made  a  wry  face. 

"  No.  Incense  should  be  a  symbol,  not  a 
fact.  It  Is  destructive  to  all  my  devotional 
spirit.  Still,  even  in  this  one  week,  I  have 
become  an  epicure  in  it.  Granted  that  the 
wind  is  in  the  right  direction,  I  can  recognize 
the  brand  at  least  a  block  away.  I  like  the 
kind  they  use  at  the  Basilica  best.  That  out 
at  the  Franciscan  Convent  is  doubtless  choice ; 
but  it  is  a  bit  too  pungent  for  my  Protestant 
nose."  Then  of  a  sudden  her  face  grew  grave. 
"  Please  don't  think  I  am  making  fun  of  seri- 
ous matters,  Mr.  Brock,"  she  added.  "  Even 
If  I  do  dislike  the  incense,  I  can  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  the  service,  and  I  should  be  ashamed 
of  myself,  if  I  couldn't  be  really  and  truly 
reverent  in  the  midst  of  all  that  dignified 
worship." 

Brock  was  no  Catholic ;  he  possessed  the 
average  devoutness  of  his  age  and  epoch. 
Nevertheless,  he  liked  Nancy's  swift  change  of 
mood.  All  in  all,  he  liked  Nancy  extremely, 
and  he  was  sincerely  grateful  to  the  fate  which 
had  given  him  this  attractive  table  companion. 
The  past  three  days  had  brought  them  into 
an     excellent     understanding    and     friendship. 


BY   THE    GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Trained  in  totally  different  lines,  they  yet  had 
many  a  point  in  common.  They  were  equally 
direct,  equally  frank,  equally  blest  with  the 
saving  sense  of  humor.  In  spite  of  the  dainty 
femininity  of  all  her  belongings,  Nancy  met 
Brock  with  the  unconscious  simplicity  of  a 
growing  boy.  The  manner  was  new  to  Brock, 
and  he  found  it  altogether  pleasing.  Most 
of  the  women  he  had  met,  had  contrived  to 
impress  upon  him  that  he  was  expected  to  flirt 
with  them.  It  was  obvious  that  Nancy  Howard 
wished  either  to  be  liked  for  herself,  or  to  be 
let  alone. 

"Then  you  enjoyed  yourself.?"  he  asked. 

Nancy*s  mind  went  swiftly  backward  over 
the  morning.  Impressionable  and  artistic  of 
temperament,  she  could  yet  feel  the  thrill  which 
accompanies  the  worship  of  close-packed,  kneel- 
ing humanity,  still  hear  the  chanting  of  the 
huge  antiphonal  choirs,  the  throng  of  priests 
in  the  chancel  answered  by  the  green-sashed 
seminarians  in  the  organ  loft  above.  The  gor- 
geous robes  of  the  celebrants,  the  ascetic  face 
of  the  young  preacher,  and  even  the  motley 
crowd  who,  too  poor  to  hire  seats  in  a  church 
of  such  wealth  and  fashion,  knelt  in  a  huddled 
mass  of  humanity  upon  the  bare  pavement  just 
within  the  nave:    all   these  were  details;    but 

72 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

they  helped  to  fill  in  a  picture  of  absolute 
devotion  and  faith.  Nancy  raised  her  eyes  to 
Brock's  face. 

"  I  would  be  willing  to  pray  with  a  rosary, 
all  my  days,"  she  said  impulsively ;  "  if  it  would 
give   me  the  look  of  some  of  those  people." 

For  a  moment,  Brock  felt,  the  look  was 
hers.     Then  she  laughed  again. 

"  Still,  I  shall  always  have  one  regret.  Why 
did  n't  you  tell  me  how  to  make  a  procession 
of  myself? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"About  the  gorgeous  man  that  ushers 
one  in  ^  " 

*'I  did  n't  know  there  was  one." 

"Mr.  Brock!" 

"  Miss  Howard  ?  " 

"  But  you  ought  to." 

"  But  I  don't  go  to  the  Basilica." 

"  Not  always,  of  course ;  but  surely  some- 
times." 

"  I  was  never  inside  the  doors." 

"  I  met,"  Nancy  observed  reflectively  ;  "  a 
New  York  man,  last  summer,  who  had  never 
set  eyes  on  the  Washington  Arch." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  two  cases  seem  to  me  to  be 
about  parallel." 

73 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Brock  reddened.  Nevertheless,  it  v/as  im- 
possible to  take  offence  at  Nancy's  downright 
tone  and,  the  color  still  in  his  cheeks,  he 
laughed. 

"  I  may  as  well  plead  guilty.  But  who  is 
the  man  ?  " 

"The  New  Yorker?" 

"  No  ;  the  Basilica." 

"  What  is  he,  you  'd  better  say.  He  ap- 
pears to  be  a  mixture  of  an  usher,  a  tithing- 
man  and  a  glorious  personification  of  the 
Church  Militant.  He  is  at  least  six  feet  tall, 
and  he  wears  a  long  blue  coat  with  scarlet 
facings  and  yards  of  gold  lace.  That  would 
be  impressive  enough  ;  but  he  gains  an  added 
bit  of  dignity  by  perambulating  himself  up  the 
aisles  with  a  tall,  gold-headed  sceptre  in  his 
hand." 

"  Did  he  also  perambulate  you  ?  " 

Nancy's  head  moved  to  and  fro  in  sorrow- 
ful negration. 

"  No  ;  nobody  told  me  about  him,  and  I 
lost  my  chance.  I  was  so  disappointed,  too. 
One  does  n't  get  a  chance,  every  day  in  the 
week,  to  be  converted  into  a  whole  triumphal 
procession  with  an  ecclesiastical  drum-major  at 
its  head." 

"  Most    likely  it   is  only  a  Sunday  luxury 

74 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

there,"   Brock  suggested    dryly.     "  But    what 
did  you  do  ?  " 

Nancy's  face  lengthened. 

^*  I  disgraced  myself,"  she  confessed.  "  But 
how  could  1  know  the  customs  of  the  country  .f* 
I  went  in  good  season,  and  I  stood  back, 
meekly  waiting  for  an  usher,  until  the  whole 
open  space  around  me  was  full  of  men,  kneel- 
ing on  handkerchiefs  and  newspapers  and  even 
on  their  soft  hats.  I  began  to  feel  like  a 
Tower  of  Babel  set  out  in  the  middle  of  a 
village  of  huts.  I  know  I  never  was  half  so 
tall  before.  And  still  no  usher  came.  At 
last,  I  could  n't  bear  it  any  longer,  and  I 
sneaked  into  an  empty  pew,  half-way  up  the 
aisle." 

Brock  nodded. 

"  Oh  ;  but  it  was  n't  at  all  the  right  thing  to 
do.  I  was  barely  seated,  when  I  felt  a  fore- 
finger poke  itself  into  my  shoulder.  I  looked 
around,  and  there  stood  a  woman  in  crape, 
frowning  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  naughty  child. 
She  whispered  something  to  me.  It  sounded 
very  stern  ;  but  I  could  n't  understand  what  it 
was  about,  so  I  just  smiled  at  her  and  started 
to  move  in.  But  she  poked  me  again,  quite 
viciously,  that  time,  and  pointed  out  into  the 
aisle.     Then  I  understood  her." 

75 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  And  obeyed  ?  "  Brock  asked,  laughing. 

"  What  else  could  I  do  ?  She  was  taller 
than  I." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Then  the  Good  Samaritan  appeared." 

*'  The  gold-laced  one  ?  " 

"  No ;  nothing  so  impressive.  He  was  a 
little  Frenchman  who  came  out  of  his  pew 
farther  down  the  aisle,  and  in  the  nicest  possi- 
ble English  asked  me  to  go  there  with  him. 
You  've  no  idea  how  merciful  he  was  to  me, 
nor  how  I  appreciated  it.  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  like  an  outcast,  and  he  saved  my  self- 
respect  and  returned  it  to  me,  unbroken." 

Brock  started  to  answer ;  but  Dr.  Howard  had 
appealed  to  Nancy  for  confirmation  of  one  of  his 
statements.  By  dint  of  much  effort  and  at  cost 
of  frequent  misunderstandings,  the  good  doctor 
had  established  relations  with  his  neighbor  across 
the  table,  and  the  two  men  had  been  toiling 
through  a  prolonged  conversation.  Concern- 
ing mere  matters  of  theory,  each  fondly  im- 
agined that  he  understood  the  other  perfectly. 
Confronted  with  the  problem  of  the  ultimate 
destination  of  the  sugar-bowl,  they  lost  their 
bearings  completely,  and  were  forced  to  sup- 
plement their  tongues  with  the  use  of  their 
right    forefingers. 

76 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy's  acquaintance  with  the  row  of  French- 
men was  Hmited  to  the  careful  distribution,  at 
every  meal,  of  exactly  two  little  nods  apiece, 
one  of  hail,  the  other  of  farewell.  Since  her 
first  meeting  with  Brock,  she  had  been  sur- 
prised at  the  chance  which  had  continually 
brought  them  into  the  dining-room  at  the 
same  hour ;  and,  in  her  absorption  in  his 
talk,  one  or  other  of  the  Frenchmen  was 
often  half  through  his  deliberate  meal  before 
she  remembered  to  deal  out  to  him  his  nod 
of  greeting.  She  liked  them  well  enough  ; 
but,  at  the  present  stage  of  intercourse,  they 
seemed  to  her  a  good  deal  like  well-bred 
automatons. 

While  Nancy  talked  to  her  father.  Brock 
eyed  her  furtively.  She  wore  a  dark  green 
gown,  that  noon,  and  her  vivid  hair  was  piled 
high  in  an  intricate  heap  of  burnished  coils. 
Her  hands  were  bare  of  rings,  her  whole 
costume  void  of  the  dangling  ornaments  which 
Brock  so  keenly  detested;  but,  close  in  the 
hollow  of  her  throat,  there  blazed  one  great 
opal  hke  a  drop  of  liquid  fire. 

So  suddenly  that  he  had  no  time  to  drop  his 
eyes  to  his  plate,  Nancy  turned  to  him. 
'  "  Mr.   Brock,  there  is    my    French   Samari- 
tan !  "  she  exclaimed  softly. 

77 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Brock  glanced  up  at  the  figure  who  was 
moving  past  the  table  where  they  sat. 

"  That  ?     That  is  St.  Jacques,"  he  said. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"A  law  student,  over  at  Laval,  and  one 
of  the  best  fellows  walking  the  earth  at  the 
present  time,"  Brock  answered,  with  the  swift 
enthusiasm  which,  as  Nancy  discovered  in  the 
weeks  to  come,  was  one  of  his  most  striking 
characteristics. 

Nancy  rested  her  elbows  on  the  table,  with 
a  fine  disregard  of  appearances. 

"  Well,  he  looks  it,"  she  said  impres- 
sively. 

"  He's  all  right."  Brock  nodded  over  his 
grapes. 

"  And  lives  here  ?  " 

"Eats  here;  that's  all.  The  table  just 
back  of  you  is  full  of  Laval  men.  They  come 
in  relays,  twenty  of  them  for  the  six  seats  ;  and 
Johnny  Bull  sits  enthroned  among  them  like  a 
mute  at  the  funeral  feast.  St.  Jacques  sits  just 
back  of  your  father.  I  wonder  you  have  n't 
noticed  him  before." 

Nancy  played  aimlessly  with  her  grapes  for 
a  minute  or  two.  Then,  turning  slightly  in 
her  chair,  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  towards 
the  next  table.     As  she  did  so,  the  man  who 

78 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAIXTE   AXXE 

sat  exactly  at  her  back,  moved  by  some  sudden 
impulse,  turned  at  the  same  instant,  and  Nancy 
found  herself  staring  directly  into  the  unrecog- 
nizing  eyeglasses  of  no  less  a  person  than  Mr. 
Cecil  Barth. 


79 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 

TO  adopt  the  vernacular  of  the  stables, 
Nancy  shied  violently,  for  the  apparition 
was  both  unexpected  and  unwelcome.  She 
rallied  swiftly,  however,  and,  promptly  resolv- 
ing to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter,  she  gave 
a  little  nod  and  smile  of  recognition.  The 
next  instant,  both  nod  and  smile  went  sliding 
away  from  the  unresponsive  countenance  of  Mr. 
Cecil  Barth  and  focussed  themselves  with  an 
added  touch  of  cordiality  upon  M.  St.  Jacques, 
while  the  young  Frenchman  bowed  low  in 
surprised  pleasure  at  her  friendly  greeting. 

Even  in  her  instantaneous  glance,  Nancy 
saw  that  Barth  looked  worn  and  ill ;  and,  with 
unregenerate  spite  working  in  her  heart,  she 
told  herself  that  she  was  glad  of  it.  She  had 
no  idea  that,  unable  to  supply  himself  with 
new  glasses  before  his  return  to  the  city,  Barth 
had  gained  absolutely  no  conception  of  the 
personal  appearance  of  his  quondam  nurse. 
Moreover,  as  Nancy  had  neglected  to  inform 
him  in  regard  to  her  normal  pursuits  and  her 

80 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

future  plans,  he  had  spent  the  last  week  in 
regretfully  picturing  her,  still  in  cap  and  pina- 
fore, ministering  to  the  needs  of  some  invalid 
Yankee  in  that  vast  unknown  which  he  vaguely 
termed  The  States.  Accordingly,  it  came 
about  that  the  dinner,  that  Sunday  noon,  was 
finished  in  hot  rage  by  Nancy,  in  joyous  an- 
ticipation by  Adolphe  St.  Jacques,  and  in  stolid 
unconcern  by  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  who  was  aware 
neither  of  the  existence  of  an  emotional  crisis, 
nor  of  the  fact  that  to  him  was  due  any  share 
of  its  creation. 

Nancy  sat  alone  in  the  parlor,  after  dinner, 
waiting  for  her  father  to  join  her,  when  Barth 
came  into  the  room.  He  halted  on  the  thresh- 
old long  enough  to  look  her  over  in  detail  ; 
then  he  limped  past  her  and  took  possession 
of  the  chair  beyond  her  own.  As  they  sat 
there  silent,  elbow  to  elbow,  Nancy  was  con- 
scious of  a  wayward  longing  to  remind  him 
that  it  was  high  time  for  his  liniment.  How- 
ever, she  refrained.  Two  could  play  at  that 
game  of  stolid  disregard. 

The  Lady  looked  puzzled,  as  she  followed 
Barth  into  the  room,  a  few  moments  later. 
Only  a  day  or  two  before,  Nancy,  moved  by  a 
spirit  of  iniquity,  had  confided  to  the  Lady  the 
whole  tale  of  her  connection  with  Barth,  and 
6  8i 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

the  Lady,  who  already  adored  Nancy  and,  more- 
over, was  discerning  enough  to  see  the  inherent 
manhness  of  Barth,  had  held  her  peace.  A 
charming  scene  of  recognition  was  bound  to 
follow  Earth's  return  to  The  Maple  Leaf. 
No  hint  of  a  mystery  to  come  should  take 
from  the  glamor  of  that  pleasant  surprise. 
Barth  and  Nancy  both  were  curiously  alone; 
both  were  aliens,  meeting  upon  neutral  soil. 
Already  in  her  mind's  eye  the  Lady  foresaw 
romance  and  international  complications. 

With  her  bodily  eye  the  Lady  saw  the 
elements  of  her  international  complications 
sitting  in  close  juxtaposition,  but  with  their 
backs  discreetly  turned  to  an  obtuse  angle 
with  each  other.  She  made  a  swift,  but  futile, 
effort  to  account  for  the  situation.  Then  she 
gave  Nancy  a  merry  nod  of  comprehension,  if 
not  of  understanding,  and  passed  on  to  speak 
to  Barth. 

"  You  are  better,  to-day,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  I  hope  you  did  n't  feel  obliged  to  come 
over  to  dinner.  It  was  no  trouble  to  send 
your  meals  to  you." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  was  tired  of  stopping  in  my 
room." 

"  You    look    as    if    you    had    been    having 

82 


BY   THE    GOOD    SAIXTE   AXXE 

rather  a  hard  time  of  it,"  the  Lady  said 
kindly. 

"Yes.  I  never  supposed  an  ankle  could  be 
so  painful.      Still,  I  hope  it  is  over  now." 

"  Then  it  does  n't  trouble  you  to  walk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  rather  !  And,  besides,  it  makes  one 
such  an  object,  you  know,  and  then  people 
stare.  It  won't  be  long,  though,  I  dare  say, 
before  I  can  walk  without  limping." 

A  naughty  impulse  seized  upon  the  Lady. 

"You  were  at  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre,  vou 
said  ?  And  could  you  get  proper  care  in  so 
small  a  place  ^  " 

Over  the  unconscious  head  of  Mr.  Cecil 
Barth,  Nancy  shook  her  fist  at  the  Lady. 
Then  she  fled  from  the  room  ;  but  not  quickly 
enough  to  lose  Barth's  answer,  — 

"  Oh,  so-so ;  nothing  extra,  but  still  quite 
tolerable.  The  doctor  was  clever ;  but  the 
nurse,  his  daughter,  was  an  American,  a  good- 
hearted  sort  of  girl,  but  rather  rude  and 
untrained." 

All  that  Sunday  afternoon,  Nancy  cherished 
her  hopes  of  vengeance.  Plan  after  plan  sug- 
gested itself  to  her  fertile  brain,  was  weighed 
and  found  wanting.  Planned  hostility  was 
totally  inadequate  ;  she  would  leave  everything 
to  chance.      Nevertheless,  Nancy  tarried  long 

S3 


BY  THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

at  her  mirror,  that  night;  and  she  went  down 
to  supper  with  her  head  held  high  and  a  bril- 
Hant  spot  of  color  in  either  cheek.  As  she 
passed  the  parlor  door,  she  saw  Barth,  book  in 
hand,  seated  exactly  where  she  had  left  him, 
and  she  suddenly  realized  that,  rather  than 
endure  the  short  walk  to  his  room,  he  had 
chosen  to  spend  his  afternoon  in  the  dreary 
solitude  of  a  public  sitting-room.  For  an  in- 
stant, her  heart  smote  her,  and  her  step  lagged 
a  little  ;  then  she  remembered  the  guinea,  and 
recalled  Earth's  words,  that  noon,  and  her  step 
quickened  once  more. 

Brock  followed  her  back  to  the  parlor. 

"  Oh,  let  the  Basilica  go,  to-night,"  he 
urged. 

"  But  you  told  me  it  was  a  part  of  my 
itinerary." 

"  No  matter.  You  have  n't  kept  up  your 
round,  to-day,  anyway.  Did  you  do  the  Ur- 
sulines,  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  No.  I  was  all  ready  to  go  ;  but  something 
happened  that  put  me  in  an  unchurchly  frame 
of  mind,"  Nancy  said  vindictively. 

"  Just  as  well.  It  makes  people  suspicious 
of  your  past  habits,  if  you  rush  too  violently 
into  church-going." 

"  But  twice  is  n't  too  violently." 

84 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE  AXXE 

"  Two  is  too,"  he  retorted.  "  Besides,  St. 
Jacques  asked  me  to  ask  you  if  he  might  be 
formally  introduced,  to-night." 

Nancy's  face  brightened,  and  her  voice  lost 
the  little  sharp  edge  it  had  taken  on  with  her 
reference  to  her  encounter  with  Barth. 

"  Of  course.  Both  on  account  of  his  cour- 
tesy to  me,  and  of  your  characterization  of 
him,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  him.  Where 
is  he  ^  " 

Over  in  his  corner  by  the  window,  Barth 
glanced  up  from  his  book.  Voices  rarely 
made  any  impression  upon  him ;  but  some- 
thing in  Nancy's  tone  caught  his  fancy,  re- 
minded him,  too,  of  an  indefinite  something 
in  his  past.  With  calm  deliberation,  he  fum- 
bled about  for  the  string  of  his  glasses,  put 
them  on  and  favored  Nancy  with  a  second 
scrutiny,  critical  and  prolonged.  The  girl's 
cheeks  reddened  under  his  gaze,  and  instinc- 
tively she  turned  to  Brock  for  protection  ;  but 
Brock  had  gone  in  search  of  his  friend.  From 
across  the  room,  one  rose  from  a  group  of 
women  and  came  to   Nancy's  rescue. 

"  Mr.  Barth  ?  "  she  said  interrogatively,  in 
her  pretty  broken  French.  "  I  think  it  is 
Mr.  Cecil  Barth;  is  it  not?  My  friend,  Mrs. 
Vivian,  has  written  to  me  about  you.     I  be- 

85 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

lieve  you  brought  a  letter,  introducing  your- 
self to  her." 

Instantly,  though  a  little  stiffly,  Barth  rose 
to  his  feet.  This  acquaintance,  at  least,  could 
show  its  proper  credentials. 

"  And  have  you  met  Miss  Howard  ?  "  she 
continued,  after  a  moment's  talk.  "  Miss 
Howard,  like  yourself,  is  a  stranger  among  us. 
Perhaps  she  will  allow  me  to  introduce  Mr. 
Cecil   Barth." 

"Howard  appears  to  be  rather  a  common 
name,  here  in  Canada,"  Barth  observed. 

"  Really  ?  I  've  not  met  any  one  else  by  the 
name,"  Nancy  answered  rashly. 

"  Yes.     It  was  the  name  of  my  nurse." 

"  Your  —  nurse  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  don't  mean  the  nurse  who  took 
care  of  me  when  I  was  a  little  chap,"  Barth 
explained  elaborately.  "  I  've  just  been  ill,  you 
know,  sprained  my  ankle  out  here  at  Sainte 
Anne-de-Beaupre  and  was  laid  up  for  two  weeks. 
My  nurse  out  there  was  a  Miss  Howard,  Miss 
Nancy  Howard;  but  she  was  an  American." 

Something  in  the  cadence  of  the  final  word 
was  displeasing  to  Nancy,  and  the  edge  came 
back  into  her  voice. 

"  What  a  coincidence!  "  she  observed  quietly. 
"  I  am  an  American,  myself,  Mr.  Barth." 

86 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Earth's  answer  was  refreshingly  naive. 

"  Oh,  really  ?  But  nobody  would  ever  think 
it,  I  am  sure/' 

It  was  two  days  before  Nancy  met  Barth 
again.  From  her  window,  she  watched  with 
pitiless  eyes  as  he  hobbled  to  and  from  his 
meals,  and  her  strategic  position  enabled  her  to 
avoid  the  dining-room  while  he  was  in  it. 
Meanwhile,  her  acquaintance  with  the  Lady 
and  St.  Jacques  had  made  rapid  strides  and, 
together  with  Brock,  omnipresent  and  always 
jovial,  they  formed  a  merry  group  in  the  tiny 
office  where  the  Lady  mothered  them  all  by 
turns.  Nancy  shunned  the  parlor  in  these 
latter  days.  Dr.  Howard  was  increasingly 
absorbed  in  his  studies ;  and  Nancy  felt  the 
increasing  need  of  a  duenna,  as  it  dawned  upon 
her  more  and  more  clearly  that,  wherever  she 
went,  there  Brock  and  St.  Jacques  were  sure  to 
follow.  Nancy  looked  at  life  simply  ;  these 
healthy-minded  boys  were  only  a  pair  of  excel- 
lent playmates.  Nevertheless,  all  things  con- 
sidered, Nancy  preferred  to  play  in  the  society 
of  an  older  person.  Furthermore,  for  long 
hours  at  a  time,  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  sat  enthroned 
in  the  parlor;  and,  by  this  time,  Nancy  was  re- 
solved to  avoid  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  at  anv  cost. 

The  gray  October  noon  was  cool  and  sweet, 

87 


BY  THE   GOOD  SAINTE   ANNE 

two  days  later,  when  Nancy  came  tramping 
down  the  Grand  Allee.  The  exhilaration  of 
a  long  walk  was  upon  her,  and  her  step  was 
as  energetic  as  when  she  had  left  The  Maple 
Leaf,  early  that  morning.  Starting  at  random 
by  way  of  the  Chien  d'Or  and  the  ramparts, 
she  had  skirted  the  Upper  Town  and  come 
out  by  Saint  John's  Gate  to  the  Saint  Foye 
Road  which  she  had  followed  until  the  monu- 
ment Aux  Braves  was  left  far  behind  and  the 
glimpses  of  the  dark  blue  Laurentides  were 
lost  in  the  nearer  trees.  Then,  turning  sharply 
to  the  eastward,  she  came  into  the  Grand 
Allee  not  far  from  the  shady  entrance  to 
Mount  Hermon.  A  glance  at  her  watch  as- 
sured her  that  the  morning  was  nearly  over, 
and  she  sped  along  the  interminable  plank 
sidewalk  at  a  pace  which  should  bring  her 
back  to  the  tollgate  in  time  for  the  short 
detour  to  the  Wolfe  monument.  Once  in 
sight  of  that  inscription,  grand  in  its  simple 
brevity,  Nancy  invariably  forgot  the  present, 
forgot  the  gray  wall  of  the  jail  close  by,  forgot 
even  the  insistent  voices  that  hailed  her  from 
the  cab-stand  at  the  gate.  For  the  moment, 
she  stood  alone  in  the  presence  of  the  past  and 
of  that  daring  leader  whose  destiny  forbade  his 
entering  the  stronghold  he  had  conquered. 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

Her  breath  coming  quickly  and  her  lower 
lip    caught    between    her    teeth,  Nancy  stood 
leaning    against    the    rail,   looking    out   across 
the  Plains.     So  absorbed  was  she  in  her  day- 
dream of  the  past  that  she  paid  no  heed  to  a 
cab  which  halted  at  her  side. 
"Oh,  Miss  Howard?" 
Starting  abruptly,  she  turned  to  face  Barth. 
Tired  of  his  solitary  drive,  the  young  fellow's 
eyes  were  smiling  down  into  the  familiar  face 
as,    hat    in    hand,  he    bent    forward    in    eager 
greeting. 

Nancy's  day-dream  vanished  like  a  broken 
Prince  Rupert's  drop. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Barth,"  she  said 
grimly. 

"It  is  a  jolly  sort  of  morning;  Isn't  it? 
You  are  paying  homage  to  my  countryman  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

The  allusion  was  unfortunate.  It  recalled 
his  last  words  to  Nancy,  and  she  grew  yet 
more  grim. 

"  Brave  gentlemen  belong  to  no  country," 
she  answered,  with  what  seemed  to  her  a  swift 
burst  of  eloquence. 
Barth  laughed. 

"  Poor  beggars  !  Must  they  all  be  expatri- 
ated?     If  that's   the  case,  it's    better    to    be 

89 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

whimpering  over  a  sprained  ankle  than  to  die 
victorious  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham." 

"  That  was  n't  what  I  meant  at  all,"  Nancy 
interposed  hastily.  Then  she  took  out  her 
watch  and  looked  at  it  a  little  ostentatiously. 
"  It  is  a  glorious  day,  Mr.  Barth,  and  I  wish 
you  a  pleasant  drive.  It  is  nearly  dinner  time, 
and  I  must  hurry  on." 

"  Why  not  let  me  take  you  in  ? "  he  urged. 
"  I  am  going  directly  back  to  The  Maple 
Leaf." 

But  Nancy's  answer  permitted  no  argument. 

"  Thank  you,  no.  I  am  out  for  the  exercise, 
and  you  are  going  on  farther.  It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  interfere  with  your  drive."  And, 
with  a  curt  bow,  she  turned  away  and  stalked 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  Grand  Allee. 

The  light  died  out  of  Barth's  eyes  and  the 
friendly  smile  fled  from  his  lips,  as  he  realized 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had 
had  his  overtures  rejected.  Worst  of  all,  the 
rejection  was  by  an  American  and,  from  his 
point  of  view,  totally  without  cause.  Mr. 
Cecil  Barth  dropped  back  in  his  seat,  stretched 
out  his  lame  foot  Into  a  position  of  compara- 
tive comfort,  and  then  said  Things  to  himself 

He  passed  Nancy  just  outside  the  Saint  Louis 
Gate.     Head  up,   shoulders  thrown  back,  she 

90 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

was  swinging  along  with  the  free  step  of  per- 
fect health  and  equally  perfect  content.  From 
the  solitary  dignity  of  his  cab,  Barth  eyed  her 
askance. 

"Wait  a  bit,  though,"  he  apostrophized  her, 
with  a  sudden  burst  of  prophecy.  ''The  time 
will  come,  Miss  Howard,  when  you  don't 
rush  off  and  leave  me  alone  like  this." 

But  Nancy,  rosy  and  flushed  with  exercise, 
entered  the  dining-room,  that  noon,  without  a 
glance  in  his  direction.  Barth  kept  his  own 
eyes  glued  to  his  plate ;  but,  from  over  his 
right  shoulder,  he  could  hear  every  word  of 
her  merry  talk  with  Reginald  Brock.  As  he 
listened,  Barth  began  to  question  whether  Eng- 
land might  not  have  allowed  too  great  a  share 
of  independence  to  certain  of  her  western 
colonies. 


91 


CHAPTER    NINE 

MISS  HOWARD?" 
Nancy  glanced  up,  as  St.  Jacques  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway  with  Brock  at  his  side. 
At  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  Barth  also 
glanced  up.  The  action  was  wholly  involun- 
tary, however,  and  Barth  sought  to  disguise 
with  a  yawn  his  ill-timed  manifestation  of  in- 
terest. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  something  of  im- 
portance to  announce,"  Nancy  replied,  as  she 
rose  and  crossed  the  room  to  the  door. 

"So  we  have.  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
this  evening?  " 

"That  isn't  an  announcement;  it  is  a  ques- 
tion," she  suggested. 

St.  Jacques  laughed.  Nancy  always  en- 
joyed the  sudden  lighting  of  his  face.  At  rest, 
it  was  almost  heavy  in  its  dark,  intent  earnest- 
ness ;  at  a  chance  word,  it  could  turn  mirthful 
as  the  face  of  a  child,  gentle  with  the  sym- 
pathetic gentleness  of  a  strong  man.  Just 
now,  the  rollicking  child  was  uppermost. 

92 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE  ANXE 

"How  can  I  tell  the  difference?  I  am  not 
English,"  he  answered. 

Nancy  cocked  the  white  of  one  eye  towards 
the  far  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Neither  am  I,"  she  said  demurely. 

Brock's  answer  was  enigmatic ;  but  Nancy 
held  the  key. 

"It  is  always  possible  to  be  grateful  to 
Allah,"  he  said,  low,  but  not  so  low  as  to  keep 
the  color  from  rising  in  Earth's  cheeks. 

St.  Jacques  turned  suddenly. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Earth.  Is  your  ankle 
better  ^  "  he  queried. 

But  Earth  was  as  yet  unable  to  make  any 
distinctions  in  measuring  out  his  displeasure. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  St.  Jacques,"  he  an- 
swered icily.     "  It  is  almost  quite  well." 

"  O — oh.  I  am  very  glad,"  St.  Jacques  re- 
sponded, in  such  vague  uncertainty  as  to  how 
great  a  degree  of  gain  might  be  represented 
by  the  almost  quite  that  he  entirely  missed 
the  note  of  hostility  in   Earth's  voice. 

Again  the  white  of  Nancy's  eye  moved  to- 
wards the  corner  of  the  room,  as  Brock 
said, — 

"  But  you  have  n't  answered  St.  Jacques's 
question.   Miss   Howard." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.      I  am  not  going  to  do 

93 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

anything,  unless  sitting  in  this  room  counts  for 
something.'* 

"But  it  doesn't."  Barth  took  an  unex- 
pected plunge  into  the  conversation. 

"  Then  what  makes  you  do  it  ?  "  Brock 
inquired. 

His  intention  had  been  altogether  hostile, 
for  he  had  been  irritated  by  the  discourtesy 
shown  to  his  friend.  Nevertheless,  his  irrita- 
tion gave  place  to  good-tempered  pity,  as  the 
young  Englishman  answered  quietly, — 

"  Because  there  's  not  so  very  much  left  that 
I  can  do.  One  does  n't  get  much  variety  in  a 
radius  of  half  a  mile  a  day." 

This  time,  Nancy  turned  around. 

"Doesn't  that  ligament  grow  strong  yet?" 
she  asked,  in  a  wave  of  sympathy  which  swept 
her  off  her  guard. 

Then  she  blushed  scarlet,  for  Barth  was 
looking  up  at  her  in  manifest  astonishment. 
How  could  this  impetuous  young  woman  have 
discovered  the  fact  that  he  owned  a  ligament  ? 
He  had  not  considered  it  a  fit  subject  for  con- 
versation. Was  there  no  limit  to  the  unex- 
pected workings   of  the  American  mind? 

"  I  did  n't  know  —  Oh,  it  is  better,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Then  in  a  flash  the  situation  dawned  upon 

94 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Brock.  He  recalled  Earth's  unexplained  ill- 
ness ;  he  remembered  Nancy's  story  of  the 
Englishman  and  his  golden  guinea.  Back  in 
the  depths  of  his  sinful  brain  he  stored  the 
episode,  ready  to  be  brought  out  for  use, 
whenever  the  time  should  be  ripe.  And 
Nancy,  looking  into  those  clear  gray  eyes, 
knew  that  he  knew  ;  knew,  too,  that  it  would 
be  useless  to  beg  for  mercy  for  the  unsuspect- 
ing Britisher.  Moreover,  she  was  not  alto- 
gether sure  that  she  wished  to  beg  for 
mercy. 

"  But  really,  have  you  any  plan  for  this 
evening?"   St.  Jacques  was  urging. 

Dismissing  the  others  from  her  mind, 
Nancy  smiled  into  the  dark  face  which  was 
almost  on  a  level  with  her  own. 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  That  is  good.  There  is  a  little  opera  at 
the  Auditorium,  to-night ;  nothing  great,  but 
rather  pretty.  I  saw  it  in  Saint  John,  last  year. 
Brock  and  I  both  thought  —  " 

"  What  time  Is  it  now  ? "  Nancy  asked. 

"  About  seven." 

Nancy  reflected  swiftly.     Then  she  said, — 

"  Impromptu  parties  are  always  the  best. 
Go  and  ask  the  Lady  if  she  can  come  with  us, 
Ifshe  will  — '^ 

95 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

But  only  Barth  in  his  corner  heard  the  end- 
ing of  her  sentence. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Nancy  came  rustling 
softly  down  the  stairway,  her  shining  hair 
framed  in  the  white  fur  ruff  of  her  cloak. 
Two  immaculate  youths  were  pacing  the  hall ; 
but  Barth  had  disappeared.  She  found  him 
sitting  in  the  office  beside  the  Lady.  He  rose, 
as  Nancy  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Don't  let  me  keep  you,"  he  said  regret- 
fully.    "  You   are  going  out  ?  " 

In  his  present  mood  of  content,  St.  Jacques 
felt  that  he  could  afford  to  be  gracious. 

"  Don't  we  look  it  ?  "  he  asked  boyishly. 

Experience  had  taught  Nancy  what  to  expect 
when  Barth  fell  to  fumbling  about  the  front  of 
his  waistcoat.  Nevertheless,  even  she  blushed 
at  the  prolonged  stare  which  was  too  full  of 
interest  to  be  impertinent.  Then,  without  a 
glance  at  the  others,  Barth  let  the  glasses  fall 
back  again. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  "  he  answered,  with  unwonted 
fervor. 

The  Lady  laughed. 

"  Is  that  the  best  you  can  say  of  us,  Mr. 
Barth  ?  "   she  inquired. 

"  Rather  is  Barth's  strongest  superlative,'* 
Brock  commented.     "  Well,  are  we  ready  ?  " 

96 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

The  Lady  rose  with  some  reluctance.  Dur- 
ing the  few  days  of  his  imprisonment,  she  had 
been  brought  into  closer  contact  with  Barth. 
She  had  watched  him  keenly,  and  she  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that,  underneath  all  his 
haughty  indifference,  the  young  Englishman 
was  lonely,  homesick  and  altogether  likable. 

"  It  is  really  too  bad  to  turn  you  out,  Mr. 
Barth,"  she  said  kindly.  "  Won't  you  stay 
here  and  read  ^  It  is  more  cosy  here,  and  you 
can  be  quite  by  yourself." 

The  friendly  words  touched  Barth  and,  for 
an  instant,  he  lost  his  poise.  A  sudden  note  of 
dejection  crept  into  his  voice,  as  he  answered,  — 

"  I  seem  to  accomplish  that  end,  wherever 

go- 
Brock  was  already  leading  the   way  to  the 

door,  and  Nancy  was  gathering  up  her  long 

skirt.      It  was  St.  Jacques  who  lingered. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  with  us," 
he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  I  — "  Barth  was  beginning,  when  the 
Frenchman  interrupted,  — 

"  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you,  and  I 
can  easily  telephone  for  another  seat.  It  is 
not  a  great  opera ;  but  it  will  be  better  than 
sitting  alone  in  your  room." 

The  unexpected  addition  to  their  party  was 
7  97 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

by  no  means  to  Nancy's  liking.  Nevertheless, 
her  eyes  rested  upon  St.  Jacques  with  full 
approval.  The  deed  had  been  a  gracious  one, 
and  Nancy  felt  that,  with  Brock  and  St.  Jacques 
to  help  her,  she  could  easily  manoeuvre  Barth 
to  the  outer  seat  beyond  the  Lady. 

The  event  justified  her  belief.  Barth  de- 
murred, then  yielded  to  a  second  invitation 
which  was  cordially  echoed  by  the  Lady  ;  and 
it  was  at  the  Lady's  side  that  he  limped  down 
the  aisle.  Nancy,  in  the  rear  with  the  others, 
told  herself  that  he  had  no  need  for  his  pro- 
fuse apologies  regarding  his  dress.  Even  in 
morning  clothes,  Barth  showed  that  both  his 
figure  and  his  tailor  were  irreproachable.  She 
also  told  herself  that,  until  then,  she  had  had 
no  notion  of  the  way  the  man  must  have 
suffered.  It  is  not  without  reason  that  a  man 
of  the  early  twenties  allows  himself  to  hobble 
ungracefully  into  a  strange  theatre,  or  gets 
white  at  the  lips,  by  the  time  he  is  finally 
seated. 

As  St.  Jacques  had  said,  the  opera  was  by  no 
means  a  great  one.  However,  Nancy,  sitting 
in  that  dull  green  interior,  looking  about  her 
at  the  half-veiled  lights  and  at  the  dainty  gowns, 
was  absolutely  content.  Barth,  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  row,  was  talking  dutifully  to  the 

98 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

Lady,  and  Nancy  had  no  idea  that  his  position, 
bending  forward  with  his  hands  clasped  over 
his  knee,  was  taken  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
being  able  to  watch  herself.  Brock  was  for 
the  moment  wholly  absorbed  in  a  scrutiny  of 
the  audience,  and  Nancy  settled  back  at  her 
ease  and  fell  into  idle  talk  with  St.  Jacques. 

Already  the  young  Frenchman  was  assuming 
a  prominent  place  in  her  thoughts.  He  was 
serious  without  being  dull,  merry  Vv'ithout  be- 
ing frivolous  ;  and  Nancy  rarely  found  it  need- 
ful to  explain  to  him  the  unexpected  workings 
of  her  somewhat  inconsequent  mind.  Even 
Brock  was  sometimes  left  gasping  in  the  rear. 
St.  Jacques,  although  by  different  and  far  less 
devious  paths,  was  generally  waiting  to  meet 
her,  when  she  reached  her  new  viewpoint. 

Little  by  little,  she  had  come  to  know  much 
of  his  history.  The  strong  habitant  blood  of 
two  hundred  years  before  had  brought  forth  a 
line  of  sturdy,  earnest  professional  men.  True 
to  their  ancestry,  they  had  made  no  effort  to 
shake  off  its  customs  or  its  tongue.  Highly 
educated,  first  at  Laval,  then  at  Paris,  they 
had  gone  back  to  the  simple  life  of  their  own 
people,  to  give  to  them  the  fruits  of  what, 
generations  before,  had  been  taken  from  them. 
Because  the  primeval  St.  Jacques  had  wrested 

99 


BY  THE   GOOD   SATNTE   ANNE 

supremacy  from  his  neighbors,  there  was  no 
reason  that  his  son's  sons  should  turn  their 
backs  upon  their  less  fortunate  brothers,  and 
seek  wealth  and  fame  in  the  luxury-loving 
cities  to  the  southward.  St.  Jacques  Vv^as  of 
the  physical  type  of  the  old-time  habitant; 
but  developed  far  towards  the  level  of  all 
that  is  best  in  manhood.  The  defensive  in- 
stincts of  a  young  girl  are  not  always  un- 
reliable. Nancy  trusted  Adolphe  St.  Jacques 
implicitly.  She  was  sure  that  he  never  stopped 
to  question  how  to  show  himself  loyal  and 
courteous ;  it  came  to  him  quite  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

"But  you  speak  English  at  home?"  she 
asked  him. 

"  No  ;  only  French." 

'^  Then  you  surely  have  been  trained  in  an 
English  school,"  she  persisted. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  The  school  was  like  Laval,  all  French." 

"  And  yet,  you  speak  as  we  do." 

His  lower  lip  rolled  out  into  his  odd  little 
smile. 

"  As  you  do,  but  more  slowly.  Of  course, 
I  understand ;  but  I  think  in  French,  and  it 
takes  a  little  time  to  put  it  into  English.  But 
my  English  is  not  like  Mr.  Earth's." 

lOO 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Nor  mine,"  she  assured  him  merrily. 

But  he  met  her  merriment  with  a  curiously 
grave  face. 

"  Miss  Howard,  I  do  not  see  why  I  can't 
like  that  fellow,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 

'^Nor  I.  And  yet,  he  isn't  half  bad," 
Nancy  replied,  with  unexpected  loyalty. 

"  I  know.  He  is  intelligent,  and  he  means  to 
be  a  gentleman,"  St.  Jacques  answered,  frown- 
ing gravely  as  he  argued  out  the  position.  ''  I 
think  I  see  his  good  points  ;  but  I  have  noth- 
ing that  —  that  is  in  common  with  any  of  them. 
Our  worlds  are  different,  and  we  can  never 
bring  them  into  connection." 

For  the  moment,  Nancy  lost  her  own  gayety 
and  spoke  with  a  seriousness  which  matched 
his  own. 

"  I  think  I  understand  you.  I  have  felt 
it,  myself.  It  is  not  anything  he  does  con- 
sciously, yet  he  leaves  me  feeling  that  we  have 
absolutely  no  common  ground.  By  all  rights, 
we  Americans  ought  to  feel  kinship  with  the 
English;  but  —  " 

St.  Jacques  turned  to  face  her. 

"  But  ?  "  he  echoed. 

However,  Nancy's  eyes  were  fastened  on 
her  fan,  and  she  answered,  with  the  fearless 
honesty  of  a  boy, — 

lOI 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  But  now  and  then  I  have  felt,  since  I  came 
here,  that  my  likeness  was  entirely  to  the 
French." 

And  St.  Jacques  bowed  in  silence,  as  the 
curtain  rose  for  the  final  act. 

Just  then,  there  came  an  unexpected  scene 
and  one  not  down  upon  the  programme.  The 
soprano  was  already  in  place  and  the  tenor,  in 
the  wings,  was  preparing  to  rush  in  to  kneel 
at  her  feet,  when  the  manager  came  out  across 
the  stage.  In  the  midst  of  the  gaudy  cos- 
tumes, his  black-clothed  figure  made  an  instan- 
taneous impression,  an  impression  which  was 
heightened  by  his  level  voice. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  regret  to  be 
obliged  to  announce  to  you  —  " 

Brock  never  knew  from  what  corner  of  the 
upper  gallery  came  that  shrill,  insistent  cry  of 
fire.  When  he  realized  his  surroundings, 
he  was  bracing  himself  against  the  seat  in 
front  of  him,  his  whole  tall  figure  tense  in 
the  effort  to  keep  Nancy  from  being  crushed 
by  the  mad  rush  for  the  doors.  Then, 
with  a  bound,  the  young  Frenchman  vaulted 
over  the  seat  towards  the  other  end  of  the 
row. 

"  Look  out  for  the  Lady,  Brock,"  he 
ordered,  as  he  dashed  past.     "  Some  one  must 

102 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

help  Barth.  His  foot  is  giving  out,  and  he 
will  drop,  in  a  minute." 

Then,  as  swiftly  as  it  had  arisen,  the  panic 
died  away.  Again  and  again  the  orchestra 
pounded  out  God  Save  the  King  with  an  ener- 
getic rhythm  which  could  not  fail  to  be  reas- 
suring. The  tumult  in  the  galleries  subsided ; 
one  by  one,  in  shamefaced  fashion,  the  people 
came  straggling  back  to  their  seats.  Brock  was 
mockingly  recounting  the  list  of  his  bruises, 
while  the  manager  completed  his  ill-timed 
announcement  of  the  sudden  illness  of  one  of 
the  singers.  Then  the  curtain  was  rung  down 
and  rung  up  again  for  a  fresh  start.  Just 
as  it  shivered  and  began  to  rise,  Barth  bent 
forward. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  St.  Jacques." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  help.  I 
needed  it,  and  it  was  given  in  a  most  friendly 
way." 

St.  Jacques  had  no  idea  of  what  those  few 
words  cost  the  dignity  of  the  taciturn  young 
Englishman.  Otherwise,  he  would  have  framed 
his  answer  in  quite  another  fashion.  As  it  was, 
he  shook  his  head. 

"You  count  it  too  highly,"  he  said,  with 
dry    courtesy.     "  In     our    language    we    call 

103 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

such    things,    not    friendship,    but  just    mere 
chivalry." 

And  Nancy,  though  unswerving  in  her  loy- 
alty to  St.  Jacques,  felt  a  sudden  pity  for  Mr. 
Cecil  Barth,  as  he  shut  his  lips  and  leaned 
back  again  in  his  chair. 


104 


CHAPTER   TEN 

DADDY  dear  P" 
Nancy's  accent  was  a  little  wishful,  as 
she  turned    her  back  on  the  habitant    in    the 
courtyard  and  faced  her  father  by  the  dressing- 
table. 

"Yes."  The  doctor  was  absently  rummag- 
ing among  his  neckties. 

"  Can't  you  spare  time  to  go  out  with  me, 
this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"Anywhere.  Lorette,  or  Beaumanoir,  or 
even  just  up  and  down  the  city.  You  really 
have  seen  nothing  of  Quebec,  daddy,  and  I  — 
once  in  a  while  I  get  lonely." 

The  doctor  dropped  his  neckties  and  looked 
up  sharply. 

"  Lonely,  Nancy  P  I  am  sorry.  Do  you 
want  to  go  home  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  !"  The  startled  emphasis  of  her 
accent  left  no  doubt  of  its  truthfulness. 

"  Then  what  is  it,  child  ?  " 

"  Nothing  ;  only  —  It  is  just  as  I  said. 
Now  and  then  I   feel  a  little  lonesome." 


BY  THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

The  doctor  smiled  at  his  own  reflection  in 
the  mirror. 

"  I  thought  Brock  and  the  Frenchman 
looked  out  for  that,   Nancy." 

"  They  do,"  she  returned  desperately  ;  "  and 
that  is  just  what  worries  me.  It  makes  me 
feel  as  if  I   needed  to  have  some  family  back 

me. 

Gravely  and  steadily  the  doctor  looked  down 
into  her  troubled  eyes. 

"  Has  anything —  ^  " 

Nancy  raised  her  head  haughtily,  as  she 
answered  him. 

"  No,  daddy  ;  trust  me  for  that.  The  boys 
are  gentlemen,  and,  besides,  they  treat  me  as  if 
I  were  a  mere  cousin,  or  something  else  quite 
unromantic.  I  like  them,  and  I  like  to  talk 
with  them.      It  is  only  —  " 

Her  father  understood  her. 

"  I  think  you  do  not  need  to  be  anxious, 
Nancy.  Over  the  top  of  my  manuscripts,  I 
keep  a  sharp  eye  out  for  my  girl.  And,  be- 
sides, it  is  a  rare  advantage  for  you  to  have  the 
friendship  of  the  Lady.  Even  if  I  were  not 
here,  I  would  trust  you  implicitly  to  her 
care." 

Nancy  nodded  in  slow  approval. 

"  Yes,  and  she  is  one  of  us.     Sometimes  I 

1 06 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

am  half  jealous  of  her.     M.  St.  Jacques  is  her 
devoted  slave." 

"  What  about  Brock  ?  " 

Nancy  laughed  with  a  carelessness  which  was 
not  entirely  feigned. 

"  Mr.  Brock  burns  incense  before  every 
woman,  young  or  old.  He  is  adorable  to  us 
all,  and  we  all  adore  him.  Still,  he  never  really 
takes  us  in  earnest,  you  know." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  the  doctor  said, 
with  sudden  decision. 

"  You  like  Mr.  Brock  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"Yes.     Don*t  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  an  ungrateful  wretch,  if  I 
did  n't."  Then  she  added,  "  Speaking  of  un- 
grateful wretches,  daddy,  was  anything  ever 
more  strange  than  the  whole  Barth  episode  ?  " 

"  Have  n't  you  told  him  yet  ?  " 

"  Told  him  1  How  could  I  ?  It  is  all  I  can 
do  not  to  betray  myself  by  accident ;  I  would 
die  rather  than  tell  him  deliberately.  But  I 
can't  see  how  the  man  can  help  knowing." 

"  Extreme  egotism  coupled  with  extreme 
myopia,"  the  doctor  suggested. 

"  Exactly,  if  it  were  one  of  us  alone,  I 
should  n't  think  so  much  about  it ;  but  it  is  a 
mystery  to  me  how  he  can  see  us  both,  without 
having  the  truth  dawn  upon  him." 

107 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

The  doctor  pondered  for  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  know,  Nancy,  I  believe  I  have  n't 
once  come  into  contact  with  the  fellow.  Except 
for  the  dining-room,  I  Ve  not  even  been  into 
the  same  room  with  him.  It  is  really  wonder- 
ful how  little  one  can  see  of  one's  neighbors." 

Nancy  faced  back  to  the  window  with  a 
jerk. 

"  And  also  how  much,"  she  added  muti- 
nously. 

But  the  doctor  pursued  his  own  train  of 
thought. 

"  After  all,  Nancy,  it  may  be  our  place  to 
make  the  first  advances.  We  are  older  —  at 
least,  I  am  —  and  there  are  two  of  us.  He  may 
be  waiting  for  us  to  recognize  him.  I  believe 
I  '11  look  him  up,  this  evening,  and  tell  him 
how  we  happen  to   be  here." 

Nancy  faced  out  again  with  a  second  jerk. 

"  Daddy,  if  you  dare  to  do  such  a  thing !  " 

"  Why  not  ?    After  all,  I  rather  liked  Barth." 

"I  didn't," 

"  But  surely  you  thought  he  was  a  gentle- 
man," the  doctor  urged. 

"  After  a  fashion,"  Nancy  admitted  guardedly. 
"Still,  now  that  I  have  met  him,  I'd  rather 
let  bygones  be  bygones.  It  would  be  madden- 
ing, for  instance,  just  when  I  was  sailing  past 

io8 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

him  on  my  way  in  to  supper,  to  have  him  re- 
member how  I  used  to  coil  strips  of  red  flannel 
around  his  aristocratic  ankle.  No  ;  we  '11  let 
the  dead  past  bury  its  bandages  and  water  them 
with  its  liniment,  daddy.  If  I  am  ever  to 
know  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  now,  it  must  be  as  a 
new  acquaintance  from  London,  not  as  my  old 
patient  from  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre." 

"  And  yet,"  the  doctor  still  spoke  medita- 
tively;  "Barth  appreciated  you,  Nancy,  and 
he  was  certainly  grateful." 

The  girl  laughed  wilfully. 

"  He  appreciated  his  hired  nurse,  daddy, 
and  he  was  grateful  to  me  to  the  extent  of  pay- 
ing me  my  wages.  By  the  way,  I  'd  like  that 
money." 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  I  would  drop  it  into  the  lap  of  the  Good 
Sainte  Anne.  It  is  no  small  miracle  to  have 
delivered  a  British  Lion  into  the  hands  of  an 
American  and  allowed  her  to  minister  to  his 
wounded  paw.  It  was  a  great  experience, 
daddy,  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  would  like  to 
reward  the  saint  according  to  her  merits." 

The  doctor's  eyes  brightened,  as  he  looked 
at  her  merry  face. 

"Wait,"  he  advised  her.  "Even  now,  the 
miracle  may  not  be  complete." 

109 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

She  ran  after  him  and  caught  him  by  the 
lapels  of  his  collar. 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  in  riddles,"  she  protested. 
"  And,  anyway,  promise  me  you  won't  tell  any 
tales  to  Mr.  Barth." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  have  something  to  do, 
besides  forcing  my  acquaintance  upon  stray 
young  Englishmen  who  don't  care  for  it." 

She  kissed  him  impetuously. 

"  Spoken  like  your  daughter's  own  father  !  " 
she  said  approvingly.  "  Now,  if  you  really 
won't  go  out  to  play  with  me,  I  'm  going  to 
the  library  to  read  the  new  magazines." 

An  hour  later,  Nancy  was  sitting  by  a  win- 
dow. Harper  s  in  her  lap  and  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  dark  blue  Laurentides  to  the  northward. 
The  girl  spent  many  a  leisure  hour  in  the  grim 
old  building,  once  a  prison,  but  now  the  home 
of  a  little  library  whose  walls  breathed  a  mingled 
atmosphere  of  mustiness  and  learning.  Ancient 
folios  were  not  lacking  ;  but  Kipling  was  on  the 
upper  shelves  and  one  of  the  tables  was  littered 
with  rows  of  the  latest  magazines. 

To-day,  however,  Nancy's  mind  was  not 
upon  her  story,  nor  yet  upon  the  Laurentides 
beneath  her  thoughtful  gaze.  The  episode  of 
the  previous  night  had  left  a  strong  impression 
upon  her.     It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen 

no 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

the  three  men  together  ;  she  had  watched  them 
with  shrewd,  impartial  eyes.  Britisher,  Cana- 
dian, and  Frenchman,  Catholic  and  Protestant : 
three  more  distinct  types  could  scarcely  have 
been  gathered  into  the  narrow  limits  of  an 
impromptu  theatre  party.  Beyond  the  simple 
attributes  of  manliness  and  breeding,  they  pos- 
sessed scarcely  a  trait  in  common.  ^  In  two  of 
them,  Nancy  saw  litde  to  deplore  ;  in  all  three, 
she  saw  a  good  deal  to  like. 

Barth   she   dismissed   with  a  brief  shake  of 
her    head.      He    was    undeniably    plucky,    far 
more  plucky  than  at  first  she  had  supposed. 
To  her  energetic,  healthy  mind,  there  had  been 
nothing  so  very  bad  about  a  sprained  ankle. 
A  little  pain,  a  short  captivity,  and  that  was 
the  end  of  it.      Once  or  twice  it  had  seemed  to 
her  that   Barth   had  been  needlessly  depressed 
by  the  situation,  needlessly  unresponsive  to  her 
efforts  to  arouse  him.      It  was  only  durmg  the 
past  few  days  that  she  had  seen  what  it  really 
meant:  the  physical  pain  and  weariness  to  be 
borne  as  best  it  might,  in  a  strange  city  and 
cut  off  from  any  friendly  companionship.      It 
even  occurred   dimly  to    her  mind  that  Barth 
was  not  whollv  responsible   for   his  chilly  ma- 
bility  to   make    new   friends,   that   it  was  just 
possible  he  regretted  the  fact  as  keenly  as  any 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

one  else.  Moreover,  Nancy  was  just.  She 
admittedj  as  she  looked  back  over  those  ten 
days  at  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre,  that  Barth 
had  been  singularly  free  from  fault-finding  and 
complaint.  She  also  admitted  that  his  ignor- 
ing of  their  past  relations  was  no  mere  matter 
of  social  snobbery.  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  was 
totally  ignorant  of  the  identity  of  his  former 
nurse.  Having  exonerated  him  from  the  charge 
of  certain  sins,  Nancy  dismissed  him  with  a 
shake  of  her  head. 

Upon  Brock  and  St.  Jacques,  her  mind 
rested  longer.  Until  the  night  before,  they  had 
seemed  to  her  to  be  a  pair  of  boon  comrades. 
While  their  holiday  lasted,  they  would  make 
merry  together.  When  she  turned  her  face  to 
the  southward,  the  bonds  of  their  acquaintance 
would  drop  apart,  and  their  lives  would  spin  on 
in  their  individual  orbits.  Now,  all  at  once, 
she  questioned.  The  naked  impulses  of  hu- 
manity show  themselves  in  times  of  danger. 
At  last  night's  alarm,  both  Brock  and  St. 
Jacques  had  turned  instinctively  to  her  pro- 
tection. Then  the  difference  had  showed 
itself.  Brock  had  given  his  whole  care  and 
strength  to  her  alone.  St.  Jacques  had  swiftly 
assured  himself  that  she  was  in  safe  hands ; 
then,  with  a  caution   to    Brock   to  guard   the 

112 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Lady,  he  had  thrown  himself  to  the  rescue  of 
Mr.  Cecil  Barth,  not  because  he  liked  Barth, 
but  because  his  instincts  were  all  for  the  suc- 
coring of  the  weak.  All  night  long,  Nancy- 
had  gloried  in  Brock's  strength  and  in  the 
singleness  of  his  devotion.  Nevertheless,  she 
was  woman  enough  to  glory  still  more  in  the 
more  prosaic  gallantry  of  the  dark-browed 
little  Frenchman.  As  a  rule,  the  pretty  girl 
in  evening  dress  is  prone  to  inspire  more  chiv- 
alry than  a  taciturn  Britisher  of  chilly  manners 
and  unflattering  tongue. 

Suddenly  Nancy  buried  her  nose  in  her 
story.  Barth  had  come  into  the  library  and 
seated  himself  at  the  table  close  at  her  elbow. 
When  she  looked  up  again,  he  had  put  on  his 
glasses  and  was  waiting  to  meet  her  eye.  She 
nodded  to  him,  and,  before  she  could  go  back 
to  her  magazine  again,  he  had  turned  his  chair 
until  it  faced  her  own.  Over  the  blue  Lauren- 
tides  the  twilight  was  dropping  fast.  Up- 
stairs in  the  dim  gallery  the  librarian  was 
moving  slowly  here  and  there  among  his  books. 
Otherwise  the  place  was  quite  deserted,  save  for 
the  two  young  people  sitting  in  the  sunset  glow. 

"  And  is  this  one  of  your  haunts,  too,  Miss 
Howard  ?"  Barth  asked,  as  he  tossed  his  mag- 
azine back  to  the  table. 
8  113 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

The  matter-of-course  friendliness  of  his  tone 
struck  a  new  note  in  their  acquaintance.  Nancy 
liked  it. 

"  Yes,  I  often  come  here,  when  it  is  too 
stormy  for  walking,"  she  assented. 

"  You  walk  a  great  deal  ?  " 

"  Endlessly.  Still,  it  does  n't  take  so  many 
steps  to  circumnavigate  this  little  city,  I  find. 
I  love  to  explore  the  out-of-the-way  nooks  and 
corners  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  did,  until  I  was  cut  off  in  my  prime. 
I  had  only  had  two  weeks,  before  disaster 
overtook  me." 

This  time,  Nancy  was  mindful  of  her  incognito. 

"  You  broke  your  ankle,  I  think  ?  "  she  said 
interrogatively. 

"  Sprained  it.  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  end." 

"Was  it  long  ago  ?" 

"  Three  weeks.  Sometimes  three  weeks  be- 
come infinite." 

"  Was  it  so  painful  ?  " 

"  Yes,  especially  to  my  pride.  It 's  so  baby- 
ish to  be  ill." 

"  But  you  were  n't  babyish  at  all,"  Nancy 
protested  courteously. 

Barth  stared  blankly  at  her  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  laughed. 

114 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANXE 

*' You  flatter  me.  Still,  it's  not  well  to  take 
too  much  on  trust,  Miss  Howard.  But  I  am 
glad  if  I  Ve  gained  any  reputation  for  pluck." 

Nancy  interposed  hastily. 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  " 

''  I  don't  know.  The  last  I  remember  be- 
forehand, I  was  standing  on  the  steps  of  Sainte 
Anne,  watching  a  pilgrimage  getting  itself 
blessed.  The  next  I  knew,  I  was  lying  on  my 
back  on  the  ground,  with  my  ankle  twisted 
into  a  knot,  and  my  future  nurse  taking  full 
possession  of  my  case.  That  was  your  name- 
sake, Miss  Howard." 

"Indeed.  Was  —  was  she  —  pretty?"  Nancy 
inquired,  not  quite  certain  what  she  was  expected 
to  say  next. 

"  I  never  knew.  My  glasses  were  lost  in  the 
scrimmage,  and  I  can't  see  ten  inches  from  my 
nose  without  them.  I  couldn't  very  well  ask 
her  to  come  forward  and  be  inspected  at  any 
such  range  as  that.  I  was  sorry,  too.  The 
girl  really  took  very  good  care  of  me,  and  I 
grew  quite  fond  of  her.  Behind  her  back,  I 
used  to  call  her  mv  Good  Sainte  Anne.  She 
was  Nancy,  you  know." 

Nancy's  magazine  slid  to  the  floor. 

"Did  she  know  it.^"  she  asked,  smilinor  a 
little  at  her  awkward  efforts  to  reach  the  book. 

115 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Allow  me,"  Barth  said  gravely.  "  No  ; 
I   am  not  sure  that  she  did." 

"When  you  meet  her,  next  time,  you  can 
tell  her,"  Nancy  advised  him. 

Barth  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  meet  her." 

"  The  world  is  very  tiny,"  Nancy  observed 
sententiously.  "  As  a  rule,  the  same  person  is 
bound  to  cross  one's  trail  twice." 

"  And,  besides,  even  if  I  did  meet  her,  how 
could  I  ever  know  her  ?  " 

"  How  could  you  help  it  P "  she  queried, 
smiling  into  his  face  which  seemed  to  her,  that 
afternoon,  to  be  curiously  boyish  and  likable. 

"  But  I  have  no  idea  how  she  looked." 

"  You  would  know  her  voice." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  notice  voices ;  but  I  rarely 
remember  them." 

"  But  her  name  ?  " 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  just  Nancy  Howard. 
Such  a  commonplace  sort  of  name  as  that 
is  no  clue.  Why,  you  may  be  a  Nancy 
Howard,  yourself,  for  anything  I  know  to  the 
contrary." 

Nancy  laughed,  as  she  rose. 

"  I  might  also  be  your  nurse,"  she  suggested. 
"  Stranger  things  than  that  have  happened, 
even  in  my  experience,  Mr.  Barth,     However, 

ji6 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

when  you  do  meet  your  Nancy  Howard,  I 
hope  you  will  tell   her  that  you  liked  her." 

The  young  fellow  looked  up  at  her  a  little 
eagerly. 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  would  mind  about 
it?" 

"  Women  are  generally  glad  to  know  when 
they  are  liked,"  Nancy  said  sagely. 

"  But  most  likely  she  knew  it,  without  my 
telling." 

Nancy  shook  her  head. 

"  More  likely  she  never  guessed  it.  You 
probably  lorded  it  over  her  and  treated  her 
like  a  servant." 

To  her  surprise,  Barth  blushed  scarlet. 
Then   he  answered  frankly,  — 

"  How  you  do  get  at  things,  Miss  Howard  ! 
The  fact  is,  I  tipped  the  girl,  one  night.  It 
seemed  to  me  then  merely  the  usual  thing  to 
do.  Since  then,  I  have  n't  been  so  sure.  She 
was  quite  a  lady,  and  —  " 

Nancy  interrupted  him  ruthlessly. 

"  How  did  she  take  it?  "  she  demanded. 

"As  she  would  have  taken  a  blow  on  the 
cheek.  I  meant  it  well.  I  had  given  her  a 
bad  day  of  it,  and  I  thought  it  was  only  decent 
to  make  up  for  it.  I  wish  now  I  had  n't ;  but  I 
could  n't  well  ask  for  the  money  again,  though 

117 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

I  knew  from  the  way  her  heels  hit  the  floor 
that  she  was  wishing  she  could  throw  it  back 
at  me.  Do  you  know,"  Mr.  Cecil  Barth 
added  thoughtfully ;  "  that  I  sometimes  think 
our  English  ways  are  n't  always  understood 
over  here." 

And,  in  that  instant,  Nancy  forgave  the 
existence  of  the  golden  guinea,  still  reposing 
among  her  superfluous  hairpins. 

"Not  always,"  she  assented.  "Still,  if  you 
were  to  tell  your  Nancy  Howard  what  you 
have  just  told  me,  I  think  she  would  under- 
stand." 

"Oh,  but  I  couldn't  do  that,"  Barth 
protested. 

"  I  don't  see  why  not.  Very  likely  she  is 
no  more  formidable  than  I  am.  Anyway,  I 
advise  you  to  try." 

As  she  stood  smiling  down  at  him,  there 
came  a  click,  and  the  dusky  library  was  flooded 
with  the  blaze  from  a  dozen  electric  bulbs. 
They  both  winced  at  the  unexpected  glare  ;  then 
Nancy's  eyes  and  Barth's  glasses  met  in  a 
steady  gaze.  His  face  was  earnest ;  hers  merry 
and  altogether  winsome.  Suddenly  she  held 
out  her  hand. 

"  Good  by,  Mr.  Barth,"  she  said  kindly. 
"  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me  about  this." 

ii8 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"You  are  going?  May  I  walk  back  with 
you  r 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  offering.  It 
would  be  a  pleasure ;  but  Mr.  Brock  is  wait- 
ing outside  to  take  me  for  a  turn  on  the 
terrace." 

And,  the  next  instant,  Barth  was  left  alone 
with  the  librarian. 


119 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 

"THROVE  it,"  Nancy  said  defensively. 
JL        "  I  will." 

"  Now." 

"  Give  me  time." 

"  Time  is  something  one  seizes,  not  takes  as 
a  free  gift." 

Brock  laughed. 

"  Your  utterances  make  superb  epigrams. 
Miss  Howard.  The  only  objection  to  them 
arises  when  one  stops  to  find  out  what  they 
really  mean." 

"  I  mean  that  you  can  never  prove  to  me 
that  the  French  are  really  outclassed  by  the 
English,"  she  retorted,  bringing  the  discussion 
back  to  its  point  of  departure. 

Brock  looked  down  at  her  quizzically. 

"  Shall  St.  Jacques  and  I  fight  it  out  in  three 
rounds  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"That*s  no  test.     You're  not  English." 

"  Not  in  the  real  sense  of  it.  But  neither 
is  he  French.  We  're  both  of  us  relative 
terms." 

1 20 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 


"And  so  useless  for  the  sake  of  aro;ument," 
she  replied. 

"  For  the  sake  of  nothing  else,  I  trust," 
Brock  said  lightly. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  Mr.  Brock,  I  am  not  an  ingrate.  With- 
out you  and  M.  St.  Jacques,  I  should  have 
been  a  good  deal  more  lonely,  this  past  month. 
My  father  is  an  old  man,  and  not  strong.  He 
has  appreciated  your  courtesy  to  him,  too." 

Brock  shifted  his  stick  to  his  left  hand. 

"Shall  we  shake  hands  on  it?"  he  said  jo- 
vially. "The  month  has  been  rather  jolly  for 
us,  as  Barth  would  say.  The  Maple  Leaf  is 
a  mighty  good  sort  of  place ;  but  the  atmos- 
phere there  is  sometimes  a  little  more  mature 
than  one  cares  for.  St.  Jacques  and  I  have  n't 
given  all  the  good  times.  But  about  the 
argument :  when  can  you  take  time  to  be 
convinced  ?  " 

"  By  a  walk  to  the  Wolfe  monument  ?  "  she 
queried  mockingly. 

^^No;  by  two  hours  of  eloquent  pleading 
on  my  part.  I  propose  to  do  it  by  sheer 
weight  of  intellect  and  statistics.  How  about 
to-morrow  afternoon  at  three  ?  " 

"Very  well,"  she  assented. 

"  I  '11  cut  the  office  for  the  afternoon.     Shall 

121 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

we  choose  the  Saint  Foye  Road  for  the  scene 
of  the  fray  P  " 

"  As  you  like,"  she  answered  merrily.  "  But 
remember  that  you  are  to  do  no  monologues. 
I  reserve  the  right  to  interrupt,  whenever  I 
choose." 

Then  they  fell  silent,  as  they  tramped  briskly 
up  and  down  the  terrace.  The  lights  from  the 
Frontenac  beside  them  glowed  in  the  purple 
dusk  and  mingled  with  the  glare  that  lingered 
in  the  west.  At  their  feet,  the  streets  of  the 
Lower  Town  were  crowded  in  the  last  mad 
scurry  of  the  dying  day,  and  the  river  beyond 
was  dotted  here  and  there  with  the  moving 
lights  of  an  occasional  ferry.  Then  a  bugle 
call  rang  down  from  the  Citadel,  and  Nancy 
roused  herself  abruptly. 

"  I  suppose  we  really  ought  to  go  to  sup- 
per," she  said  regretfully. 

"It  isn't  late." 

"  No  ;  but  my  father  will  be  waiting." 

Reluctantly  Brock  faced  about. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  there  are  more  days  to 
come,"  he  observed  philosophically. 

"  Especially  to-morrow,"  she  reminded  him. 

Barth  was  at  the  table,  when  they  entered 
the  dining-room.  Eager,  flushed  with  her  swift 
exercise  in  the  crisp  night  air  and  daintily  trim 

122 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

from  top  to  toe,  Nancy  seemed  to  him  a  most 
attractive    picture  as   she   came    towards    him. 
Brock  was  close  behind ;   together,  they  were 
laughing  over  some  jest  of  which  he  was   in 
io-norance.      Nevertheless,   Nancy   paused  be- 
side   his   chair    long    enough    to    give    him    a 
friendly    word   of  greeting,  and    Barth   smiled 
back  at  her  blissfully.      For  an  instant,  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  it  was  rather  pleasant  to  be 
no  longer  on  the  outer  edge  of  The  Maple  Leaf 
At  a  first  glance,  he  had  resented  the  suprem- 
acy of  this  American  girl  in  an  English  house. 
The   shorter    grew    his    radius,    however,    the 
surer  grew   his  allegiance   to   the   focal   point. 
American  or  no  American,  Nancy  was  undeni- 
ably pretty,  her  gowns  threw  the  gowns  of  his 
own  sisters  into  disrepute,  and,  moreover,  that 
afternoon,   she   had    shown    herself  altogether 
friendly  and  womanly  and  winning.      Accord- 
ingly, he  sowed  the  seeds  of  incipient  indiges- 
tion by  bolting  his  supper  at  a  most  unseemly 
speed,  in  order  to  gain  possession  of  a  chair 
near  the  parlor  door.      Close  study  of  the  sit- 
uation,  during   many   previous   evenings,  had 
informed  him  that  this  chair  held  a  position  of 
strategic  importance.     As  a  rule,  St.  Jacques 
had  occupied  it,  while  Barth  had  rested  on  his 
dignity  in   remote  corners.     With  the  tail   of 

123 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

his  eye^  Barth  had  assured  himself  that  the 
Frenchman  was  at  the  final  stage  of  the  meal, 
when  he  himself  reached  the  table.  However, 
the  Frenchman  was  munching  toast  and  marma- 
lade in  a  most  leisurely  fashion,  turning  now 
and  then  for  a  word  with  Brock  and  Nancy  ; 
and  Barth  felt  sure  that  he  could  overtake  him. 
His  surety  increased  as  St.  Jacques,  abandon- 
ing his  toast,  took  possession  of  a  mammoth 
bun  and  a  fresh  supply  of  marmalade.  Barth, 
who  scorned  all  things  of  the  jammy  persua- 
sion, finished  his  meat  with  the  greed  of  a  half- 
grown  puppy,  scalded  his  throat  with  the  tea 
which  had  obstinately  resisted  his  efforts  to 
cool  it,  and,  with  a  brief  nod  to  St.  Jacques, 
left  the  table  and  betook  himself  to  the  parlor. 

"  Monsieur  has  a  haste  upon  himself,  to- 
night,"  St.  Jacques  observed  dryly. 

His  early  training  had  been  potent,  and  St. 
Jacques  no  longer  wasted  upon  Barth  any 
conversational  efforts  whatsoever.  In  Nancy's 
presence,  he  treated  the  Englishman  with  dis- 
tant courtesy.  In  the  face  of  Brock's  teasing, 
he  gave  him  an  occasional  grudging  word  of 
moral  support ;  but,  at  the  table,  he  ignored 
him  completely.  According  to  the  creed  of 
Adolphe  St.  Jacques,  a  man  should  never 
allow  himself  to  be  snubbed  twice  by  the  same 

124 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

person.  He  carried  his  creed  so  far  that, 
waitresses  failing,  he  chose  to  rise  and  march 
completely  around  the  table  rather  than  ask 
for  a  stray  pepper-pot  lodged  at  Earth's  other 

hand. 

By  the  time  Barth  had  gone  twice  through 
the  diminutive  evening  paper,  advertisements 
and  all,  he  came  to  the  tardy  conclusion  that 
the    race    was    not    always   to  the   swift.      He 
knew  that  Brock  had  left  the  house.      Hat  in 
hand,  the    tall    Canadian  had  come    into    the 
parlor    for    a    book.     The    next    minute,   the 
front   door   had  slammed,  and  Brock's   meas- 
ured stride    had  passed    the    parlor    windows. 
Brock    gone,   Barth  wondered  what  could    be 
keeping  Nancy.     Not  even  a  healthy  Ameri- 
can appetite  could   linger  for   an   hour  and   a 
half  over  a  meal  of  cold  beef  and  marmalade. 
He  started  upon  a  third  tour  of  the  paper, 
in  true  British  fashion  beginning  with  the  edi- 
torials, and  finally  losing  himself  in  an  enthusi- 
astic account  of  a  recent  opening  of  fall  hats. 
By  the  time  he  realized  that  he  was  mentally 
trying  each  of  the  hats  upon  Nancy  Howard's 
auburn  hair,  he  also  realized  that  it  was  time 
he    roused    himself  to    action.      Letting    the 
newspaper    slide    to    the    floor,    he    rose     and 
walked    out  into    the    hall.     From   the  ofiice 

125 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

beyond,  there  came  the  low,  continuous  buzz 
of  earnest  voices.  Rising  on  his  toes,  Barth 
peered  cautiously  around  the  corner.  Then 
he  seized  his  hat  and  stick  and,  stamping  out 
of  the  house,  banged  the  street  door  behind 
him.  The  Lady  was  temporarily  absent.  In 
her  place,  the  office  chair  was  occupied  by 
Nancy  and  comfortably  settled  opposite  to 
Nancy  was  M.  Adolphe  St.  Jacques. 

Laval  had  a  banquet  at  the  St.  Louis,  that 
night.  It  began  late  and  ended  early.  From 
certain  random  words  he  had  overheard,  Barth 
knew  that  St.  Jacques  was  not  only  to  be 
present,  but  was  to  be  one  of  the  speakers. 
Accordingly,  a  personal  animosity  mingled 
with  his  annoyance  at  the  sounds  from  next 
door  which  broke  in  upon  his  dreams.  The 
singing  was  off  the  key  ;  the  cheering  was  harsh 
and  unduly  loud,  and  when  at  last  God  Save 
the  King  was  followed  by  a  rush  into  the  quiet 
street,  Barth  crawled  out  of  bed  and  stood 
shivering  at  the  window,  as  the  tri-colored 
banner  and  its  accompanying  crowd  marched 
past  his  ducal  residence.  In  his  present 
mood,  it  would  have  been  a  consolation  to 
have  seen  that  St.  Jacques  was  the  worse  for 
his  revel.  However,  that  consolation  was 
denied  him.     In  the  sturdy  color-bearer  head- 

126 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXNE 

ing  the  line,  he  failed    to  recognize  his  table 
companion  ;  the  other  revellers  tramped  along 
as  steadily  as  did  the  soldiers  going  home  from 
church  parade.      In  the  depths  of  his  swaddling 
blankets,  Barth  shivered.      He  shivered  again, 
as  he  crawled  back  into  the  icy  sheets  which  he 
had  thoughtlessly  left  open  to  the  chill  night  air. 
His  spirits  rose,  next  morning,  when  he  dis- 
covered   that    St.    Jacques   did    not  appear  at 
breakfast.     They  fell  again,  when  Nancy  also 
failed  to  appear.      His  masculine  mind  could 
not  be  expected  to  discern  that  she  had  risen 
early,  in  order  to  attack  a  basket  heaped  with 
long    arrears    of    undarned    socks    and    flimsy 
stockings.      His  near-sighted  eyes  had  not  dis- 
covered Nancy,  sitting  at  her  own  front  win- 
dow, with  a  stout  number  thirteen  drawn  on  over 
her  slender  hand.     Nancy  saw  him,  however; 
and,  in  the   midst  of  her  musings,  she  took 
friendly    note  of  the  fact  that,  this   morning, 
Barth  scarcely   limped  at  all. 

Barth  loitered  in  his  room  until  the  dinner 
hour  was  past.  To  the  Lady  he  gave  the  ex- 
cuse of  important  letters;  but  a  copper  coin 
would  have  paid  the  postal  bills  incurred  by 
his  morning  s  work.  The  honest  fact  was  that 
he  longed  acutely  for  more  of  Nancy's  society, 
and  he  had  no  idea  how  to  set  about  obtaining 

127 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

it.  To  ask  it  would  be  too  bald  a  compli- 
ment ;  he  lacked  the  arrogant  graces  of  his 
Canadian  rivals  who  appropriated  the  girl 
promptly  and  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Barth  had  been  used  to  more  deliberate  and 
tentative  methods.  Nevertheless,  as  he  stared 
at  the  yellow  walls  of  his  room,  he  took  a  sud- 
den resolve.  English  methods  failing,  he 
would,  according  to  the  best  of  his  ability, 
adopt  the  methods  of  America.  In  his  turn, 
he  too  would  take  possession  of  Nancy. 
With  Nancy's  possible  wishes  in  the  matter, 
he  concerned  himself  not  at  all. 

"  Too  bad  it  rains  !  "  Brock  said,  as  he  met 
Nancy  at  dinner,  that  noon. 

"  Because  you  must  delay  your  argument  ?  " 

"  No.  Because  we  can't  have  it  in  the  open 
air.  The  Saint  Foye  Road  must  be  changed 
for  the  parlor." 

"  Can  you  do  it  there  ?  " 

*'Why  not?  It  is  always  empty,  in  the 
afternoon." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that.  But  will  there  be 
room  for  you  there  ?  "  Nancy  questioned,  with 
lazy  impertinence.  "  I  have  always  noticed 
that  a  man  needs  to  gesticulate  a  great  deal, 
whenever  he  is  arguing  for  a  lost  cause." 

Brock  laughed,  as  he  patted  his  side  pocket. 

128 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  it  Is  lost.  You  have  n't 
seen  my  documents  yet.  Can  you  be  ready, 
directly  after  dinner  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  see  my  father  off.  Else  he 
would  be  sure  to  forget  his  goloshes  and  neglect 
to  open  his  umbrella.  A  father  is  a  great  re- 
sponsibility ;  is  n't  it,  daddy  ?  "  she  added,  with 
a  little  pat  on  the  gray  tweed  sleeve. 

Nearly  an  hour  later,  Barth  bounced  into  the 
room.  By  largesse  wisely  distributed,  he  had 
gained  a  good  dinner,  in  spite  of  his  tardiness. 
He  had  found  Brock's  coat  hanging  on  the 
rack  where  he  had  left  his  own  ;  and  experience 
had  taught  him  where  Brock,  once  Inside  The 
Maple  Leaf,  was  generally  to  be  found.  The 
office  was  quite  deserted  ;  and,  with  unerring 
instinct,  Barth  betook  himself  in  the  direction 
of  the  parlor. 

In  the  angle  behind  the  half-shut  door,  at  a 
table  covered  with  maps  and  papers.  Brock 
and  Nancy  sat  side  by  side.  They  looked  up 
in  surprise,  as  Barth  dashed  Into  the  room. 

"  Good  afternoon.  Miss  Howard,"  he  said 
abruptly. 

It  was  Brock  who  answered. 

"  You  appear  to  be  In  haste  about  some- 
thing,"  he  remarked. 

"  Oh,  no.  I  have  no  engagement  for  the 
9  129 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

afternoon.      I  just   looked    in   to  see  if  Miss 
Howard  —  " 

Again  it  was  Brock  who  answered. 

"  Miss  Howard  has  an  engagement." 

"  To  —  ^ "  Barth  queried,  as  he  edged 
towards   Nancy's  side  of  the  table. 

Craftily  Brock  avoided  the  ambiguous 
preposition. 

"  Miss  Howard  and  I  are  busy  together, 
this  afternoon." 

"  Oh,  really.  I  am  very  sorry.  I  hope  I 
don't  intrude."  And,  with  the  hope  still 
dangUng  from  his  Hps,  Barth  plumped  him- 
self down  on  the  sofa  beside  them  and  felt 
about  for  his  glasses.  As  soon  as  they  were 
found  and  settled  on  his  nose,  he  turned  to 
Nancy.  "  I  do  hope  I  'm  not  in  the  way," 
he  reiterated  spasmodically. 

Brock  was  growling  defiantly  in  his  throat; 
but  Nancy's  answer  was  dutifully  courteous. 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Barth." 

"  You  are  sure  you  would  n't  rather  I  went 
away  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  It  is  n't  our  parlor,"  Nancy  reminded  him. 

"Yours  by  right  of  possession."  As  he 
spoke,  Barth  arose  and  carefully  closed  the  door. 

"  Oh,  no.     And  we  could  easily  move  out." 

Barth  looked  startled.     It  was  hard  enough 

130 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

to  force  himself  to  this  cheerful  arrogance  of 
manner.  It  was  harder  still  to  have  the  man- 
ner miss  fire  in  this  fashion.  It  was  thus,  to 
his  mind,  that  Brock  was  accustomed  to  take 
forcible  possession  of  Nancy's  leisure  hours. 
He  had  never  heard  her  suggest  the  advisa- 
bility of  moving  out,  when  Brock  came  in 
upon  the  scene.  Vaguely  conscious  that  some- 
thing was  amiss,  Barth  nevertheless  persevered 
in  his  undertaking. 

"  Oh,  but  why  should  you  move  out?  " 

Nancy's  eyes  lighted,  half  with  amusement, 
half  with  impatience.  What  was  the  man 
driving  at?  Only  yesterday  she  had  been 
ready  to  accept  him  as  a  friend,  as  a  man  of 
tact  and  ingrained  breeding.  Now  his  former 
obtuseness  seemed  to  have  returned  upon  him, 
fourfold.  And  she  had  just  been  explaining 
to  Brock  that  the  man  was  n't  half  bad,  after 
all.  The  question  of  what  Brock  must  be 
thinking  of  her  taste  lent  an  added  tinge  of 
acidity  to  her  reply. 

"  Merely  in  case  you  v/ished  to  move  in,"  she 
answered,  with  the  lightest  possible  of  laughs. 

Barth  turned  scarlet ;  but  he  valiantly  sought 
to  explain. 

"  But  I  only  came  in  here,  because  I  was 
looking  for  you." 

131 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

From  a  man  of  Earth's  previous  habits  of 
speech,  this  was  rather  too  direct.  In  her 
turn,  Nancy  became  scarlet. 

"  What  did  you  wish,  Mr.  Earth  ? '' 

"Oh,  just  to  —  to  talk  to  you.  It  is  a 
beastly  day,  you  know;  and  I  thought  — 
I  fancied—" 

Nancy  cut  in  remorselessly.  Instead  of 
recognizing  Earth's  imitation  of  the  American 
manner,  she  came  to  the  swift  conclusion  that 
his  vagueness  was  due  to  temporary  dementia. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Earth  ;  but  I  am  very 
busy  with  Mr.  Erock.  Don't  let  us  drive  you 
away,  though.     We  can  go  to  the  office." 

"  Eut  don't  do  that.  Stay  here.  That 's 
what  I  came  for.  I  fancied  you  would  like  to 
have  a  little  more  talk  about  Sainte  Anne." 

Nancy  felt  Erock's  keen  gray  eyes  fixed 
upon  her,  felt  the  world  of  merriment  in  their 
depths.  She  reflected  swiftly.  During  the 
past  twenty  hours,  there  had  been  scant  chance 
that  Earth  should  have  discovered  her  identity. 
His  suggestion  was  doubtless  only  the  random 
result  of  chance.  Nevertheless,  with  Erock's 
eyes  upon  her,  she  was  unable  to  parry  the 
suggestion   with   her  wonted  ease. 

"  Why  should   I   care  to  talk  about  Sainte 

Anne?"  she  asked  coldly. 

132 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"I  —  I  thought  you  seemed  interested,  last 
night." 

Again  Nancy  felt  Brock's  eyes  on  her,  and 
she  chafed  at  the  false  position  in  which  she 
found  herself  It  was  plain  that  Brock  took 
it  for  granted  that  she  had  decoyed  the  unsus- 
pecting Barth  into  telling  over  the  tale  of  his 
experiences  ;  and  Nancy,  rebelling  at  the  sus- 
picion, was  powerless  to  deny  it.  She  felt  a 
momentary  pity  for  the  young  Englishman 
who  seemed  bent  upon  offering  himself  up  as 
a  victim  to  his  allied  foes,  yet  she  found  it 
impossible  to  come  to  his  rescue  without  im- 
periling her  secret. 

Suddenly  Barth  spoke  again. 

"  Were  you  ever  at  Sainte  Anne-de-Beau- 
pre,   Miss  Howard  ?  " 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  when  it  seemed 
to  Nancy  that  Brock  must  be  able  to  count  the 
throbbing  of  her  pulse.  Then  she  answered 
quietly,  — 

"  Once,  quite  a  long  time  ago.  However, 
the  whole  episode  is  so  unpleasant  that  I  rarely 
allow  myself  to  think  much  about  it.  Mr. 
Brock,  perhaps  we  'd  better  go  out  to  the  office, 
if  Mr.  Barth  will  excuse  us." 


^33 


CHAPTER   TWELVE 

NANCY  spent  the  evening  in  the  Valley 
of  Humiliation,  Barth  spent  it   in   the 
office  with  the  Lady. 

"  But  what  did  you  say  to  irritate  her  P  " 
the  Lady  asked  at  length,  when  Barth,  by 
devious  courses,  had  brought  the  conversation 
around  to  Nancy. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  would  n't  irritate  Miss 
Howard  for  any  consideration,"  he  returned 
eagerly. 

"  But  she  was  irritated." 

"  Y— es  ;  but  I  did  n't  do  it." 

The  Lady  smiled.  Liking  Barth  as  she  did, 
she  could  still  realize  that  his  point  of  view 
might  be  antagonistic  to  a  girl  like  Nancy. 
Moreover,  she  too  had  seen  Barth,  that  noon. 
She  too  had  wondered  at  the  unaccountable 
elation  of  his  manner  ;  and  she  had  recorded 
the  impression  that,  when  a  narrow  Britisher 
begins  to  expand  his  limits,  the  broad  American 
would  better  make  haste  to  seek  shelter. 

134 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  said  kindly. 

Barth's  feigned  arrogance  of  manner  had 
fallen  from  him  ;  it  was  a  most  humble-minded 
Britisher  who  stood  before  the  Lady,  and  the 
Lady  pitied  him.  Barth's  eyes  looked  tired  ; 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  drooped,  and  dejection 
sat  heavy  upon  him. 

The  Lady  turned  a  chair  about  until  it  faced 

her  own. 

"Sit   down   and   tell    me  all   about  it,    Mr. 
Barth,"  she  repeated. 

Barth  obeyed.  Later,  alone  in  his  room, 
he  wondered  how  it  was  that  he  had  been 
betrayed  into  speaking  so  frankly  to  a  com- 
parative stranger;  yet  even  then  he  felt  no 
regrets.  A  petted  younger  son,  he  had  been 
too  long  deprived  of  feminine  companionship 
and  understanding.  Now  that  it  was  offered, 
he  accepted  it  eagerly.  Moreover,  Barth  was 
by  no  means  the  first  lonely  youth  to  pour  the 
story  of  his  woes  into  the  Lady's  ear. 

Seated  with  the  light  falling  full  upon  his 
honest,  boyish  face,  he  plunged  at  once  into 
his  confession,  with  the  absolute  unreserve  that 
only  a  man  customarily  reserved  can  show. 

"  It  is  just  a  case  of  Miss  Howard,"  he  said 
bluntly.  "  She  is  an  American,  and  not  at  all 
like  the  girls  I   have  known,  treats  you  like  a 


i^. 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

good  fellow  one  minute,  and  freezes  you  up  the 
next.      I  can't  seem  to  understand  her  at  all." 

"  What  makes  you  try  ? "  the  Lady  asked. 

It  never  seemed  to  occur  to  the  young  fellow 
to  blush,  as  he  answered,  — 

"  Because  I  like  her  a  great  deal  better  than 
any  other  girl  I  ever  saw." 

In  spite  of  herself,  the  Lady  smiled  at  the 
unqualified  terms  of  his  reply. 

"It  has  n't  taken  you  long  to  find  it  out." 

"  No.  But  what 's  the  use  of  waiting  to 
make  up  your  mind  about  a  thing  of  that 
sort?"  Barth  responded,  as  he  plunged  his 
hands  into  his  trouser  pockets.  "  You  like 
a  person,  or  else  you  don't.  I  like  Miss 
Howard  ;  but,  by  George,  I  can't  understand 
her  in  the  least !  " 

"Is  there  any  use  of  trying?"  the  Lady 
inquired. 

Barth  stared  at  her  blankly. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  How  else  would  I  know  how 
to  get  on  with  her  ?  " 

"  But,  by  your  own  story,  you  don't  succeed 
in  getting  on  with  her." 

Barth  closed  the  circle  of  her  argument. 

"  No.  Because  I  can't  seem  to  understand 
her." 

"  Are  you  sure  she  understands  herself?  " 

136 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

"  Ohj  yes.  Miss  Howard  is  very  clever, 
you  know." 

"  Perhaps.  It  does  n't  always  follow.  And 
are  you  sure  she  cares  to  have  you  understand 
her.?  " 

The  young  Englishman  winced  at  the 
question. 

"What  should  she  have  against  me.?"  he 
asked  directly. 

"  I  am  not  saying  that  she  has  anything," 
the  Lady  answered,  in  swift  evasion.  "  Some- 
times it  is  to  their  best  friends  that  girls  show 
their  most  contradictory  sides." 

"  Oh.  You  mean  it  is  one  of  her  American 
ways  r 

"Yes,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  that." 

Barth  shook  his  head. 

"  Miss  Howard  is  very  American,"  he  ob- 
served a  little  regretfully. 

The  Lady  smiled. 

"  And,  my  dear  boy,  so  are  you  very 
British." 

"  Of  course.  I  mean  to  be,"  Barth  answered 
quietly. 

"And  perhaps  Miss  Howard  finds  it  hard 
to  understand  your  British  ways." 

Barth  looked  perplexed. 

"  Oh,  no.      I    think    not,"  he   said   slowly. 

137 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  She  never  acts  at  all  embarrassed,  when  she 
is  with  me.  In  fact,"  he  laughed  deprecatingly  ; 
"  I  am  generally  the  one  to  be  embarrassed, 
when  we  are  together." 

There  was  a  short  pause.  Then  Barth  con- 
tinued thoughtfully,  as  if  from  the  heart  of  his 
reverie,  — 

"  And  I  did  n't  like  her  especially,  at  first. 
She  seemed  a  bit  —  er  —  cocksure  and  —  er  — 
energetic.  Now  I  am  beginning  to  like  her 
more  and  more." 

"  Have  you  seen  much  of  her  ?  " 

Barth  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  It  is  only  once  that  we  have  had  any 
real  talk  together.  That  was  yesterday,  at  the 
library.  It 's  a  queer  old  place,  and  one  talks 
there  in  spite  of  one's  self  We  had  a  good 
time.  But  generally  those  other  fellows  are 
around  in  the  way." 

The  Lady  raised  her  brows  interrogatively. 

"  Mr.  Brock  and  that  Frenchman,"  Barth 
explained.  "  They  are  always  with  her  ;  they 
have  n't  any  hesitation  in  coming  into  the 
drawing-room  and  carrying  her  off,  just  as  I 
am  getting  ready  to  talk  to  her." 

A  blot  on  the  Lady's  account  book  de- 
manded her  full  attention  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  looked  up  at  Barth  again. 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

"  Why  don't  you  try  the  same  tactics  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  '* 

"  Why  don't  you  carry  her  off,  just  as  Mr. 
Brock  is  getting  ready  to  talk  to  her  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  so  quick  that  he  gets  right 
about  it,  before  I  have  time  to  begin.  Mr. 
Brock  has  a  good  deal  of  the  American  way, 
himself,"  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  added,  with  an  accent 
of  extreme  disfavor. 

The  Lady  smiled  again. 

"  I  think  you  '11  have  to  develop  some 
American  ways,  yourself,  Mr.  Barth,"  she 
suggested. 

Again  the  note  of  dejection  came  into  his 
voice. 

"  I  tried.     Tried  it,  this  afternoon." 

"  And  ^  "  she  said  interrogatively. 

"  It  was  all  wrong." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  thought  I  did  It  just  as 
Mr.  Brock  does.  I  went  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  found  them  together,  just  the  way 
he  has  so  often  found  us.  I  began  to  talk  to 
her  just  as  he  does,  only  of  course  I  would  n't 
think  of  chaffing  her.  You  know  he  chaffs 
her,  and  she  can't  seem  to  make  him  stop," 
Barth  added,  in  hasty  explanation. 

139 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  What  did  you   talk   to   her  about  ?  "  the 
Lady  queried. 

"  That 's  just  It.  I  did  n't  get  started  talk- 
ing at  all.  I  just  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't 
like  to  talk." 

Once  more  the  Lady  bent  over  the  blot. 

"  What  did  you  invite  her  to  talk  about .?  '* 
she  asked  quietly. 

"  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  and  all  that." 

There  was  a  pause.     Then,  — 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Lady. 

"  We  'd  been  talking  about  it  in  the  library, 
just  the  afternoon  before,  and  she  seemed  in- 
terested, asked  about  my  accident  and  my 
nurse  and  all.  Really,  we  were  just  beginning 
to  get  on  capitally,  when  she  had  to  go.  I 
thought  the  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to  begin 
where  we  left  off;  but  she  turned  very  cross, 
would  n't  say  a  word  to  me  and  finally  picked 
up  her  books  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  I 
don't  see  what  I  could  have  done  to  displease 
her."  And,  putting  on  his  glasses,  Barth 
stared  at  the  Lady  with  disconsolate,  question- 
ing blue  eyes. 

The  Lady  laughed  a  little.  Nevertheless, 
she  felt  a  deep  longing  to  scold  Nancy,  to  give 
Fate  a  sound  box  on  the  ear  and  to  take  Mr. 
Cecil   Barth  into  her  motherly  embrace.     She 

140 


BY  THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

liked  his  frankness,  liked  the  under  note  of  re- 
spect which  mingled  in  his  outspoken  admira- 
tion for  Nancy.  She  could  picture  the  whole 
scene  :  Earth's  nervous  assumption  of  ease 
confronted  with  the  nonchalant  assurance  of 
Brock,  Nancy's  hidden  amusement  at  the  ten- 
tative request  for  polite  conversation,  and  her 
open  consternation  at  the  subject  which  Barth 
had  proposed  for  discussion.  It  was  funny. 
She  looked  upon  the  scene  with  the  eves  of 
Nancy  and  Brock,  yet  her  whole  womanly 
sympathy  lay  with  the  Englishman,  an  open- 
hearted,  tongue-tied  alien  in  a  land  of  easy 
speech.  Earth's  hand  rested  on  the  corner  of 
her  desk.  Bending  forward,  she  laid  her  own 
hand  across  his  fingrers. 

"  Don't  worry,  Mr.  Barth,"  she  said  kindly. 
"  You  and  Miss  Howard  will  be  good  friends  in 
time.  It  is  an  odd  position,  your  meeting  here 
on  neutral  soil.  Your  whole  ways  of  life  are  so 
different  that  you  find  it  hard  to  understand 
each  other.  I  am  half-way  between  you,  and 
I  know  you  both.  What  is  more,  I  like  you 
both,  and  I  'd  like  to  see  you  good  friends. 
Leave  something  to  time,  and  a  great  deal  to 
Miss  Howard.  And  —  forgive  me,  my  dear 
boy,  but  I  am  quite  old  enough  to  be  your 
mother  —  I  would  let  the  American  ways  take 

141 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

care  of  themselves,  and  just  be  my  own  Eng- 
lish self.  If  Miss  Howard  is  going  to  like 
you  at  all,  it  will  be  for  yourself,  not  for  any 
misfit  manners  you  may  choose  to  put  on." 

"  But,  the  question  is,  is  she  going  to  like 
me  at  all  ? "  Barth  said  despondingly. 

The  Lady's  eyes  roved  over  him  from  the 
parting  of  his  yellow  hair  to  the  toes  of  his 
unmistakably  British  shoes. 

"  Forgive  my  bluntness,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  if  I  say  that  I  don't  see  how  she  can 
very  well  help  it." 

Half  an  hour  later,  she  knocked  at  Nancy's 
door. 

"  May  I  come  in  ? "  she  asked  blithely. 
"All  the  evening,  I  have  been  talking  to  a 
most  downcast  young  Englishman,  and  now  I 
have  come  up  to  administer  justice  to  you. 
The  justice  will  be  tempered  with  mercy ; 
nevertheless,  I  think  you  deserve  a  lecture." 

"Your  Englishman  is  an  idiot,"  Nancy  ob- 
served dispassionately  ;  "  and  I  don't  deserve 
any  lecture  at  all.     However,  go  on." 

Crossing  the  room,  the  Lady  turned  on  the 
electric  light. 

"Nancy  Howard,"  she  said  sternly;  "your 
voice  was  suspicious  enough ;  but  your  eyes 
betray  you.     You  've  been  crying." 

142 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  What  if  I  have  ?  "  the  girl  asked  defiantly. 

The  Lady's  quick  eye  caught  the  glitter  of 
a  gold  coin  on  the  dressing-table.  Then  she 
turned  back  to  Nancy. 

"  Girls  like  you  don't  cry  for  nothing," 
she  remarked.  "  May  I  sit  down  on  the 
bed  ?  " 

Nancy  nodded.  Then  she  replied  to  the 
first  remark. 

"  I  was  n't  crying  for  nothing.  1  was  crying 
over  my  conscience." 

''  What  has  your  conscience  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Pricking,"  the  girl  answered  frankly.  "  I 
hate  to  be  nasty  to  people  ;  but  now  and  then 
I  am  driven  into  it." 

"  Mr.  Barth  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Barth,"  Nancy  assented,  with  an 
accent  of  finality.  "  Now  go  on  with  your 
lecture." 

The  Lady  laughed. 

"  Really,  Nancy,  you  sometimes  take  away 
even  my  Canadian  breath.  I  can  imagine  that 
you  leave  Mr.  Barth  gasping." 

"Mr.  Barth  would  gasp  in  a  stilly  vacuum," 
Nancy  replied  tranquilly. 

"Very  likely.  It  is  possible  that  you  might 
do  likewise.  But  to  my  point.  Was  it  quite 
fair,  Nancy,  to  encourage  the  boy  to  talk  about 

143 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

the  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  episode,  and  then 
snub  him,  the  next  time  he  alluded  to  it  ? " 

"Did  he  tell  you  any  such  tale  as  that?" 
Nancy  demanded,  in  hot  wrath. 

"  He  —  he  implied  it." 

"  And  you  believed  him  ?  " 

"I  —  I  could  n't  understand  your  doing  it." 
The  Lady  began  to  wonder  whether  the  prom- 
ised lecture  were  to  be  given  or  received. 

Nancy  sprang  up  and  walked  the  length  of 
the  room. 

"  Oh,  the  horrid  little  cad  !  "  she  said 
explosively. 

The  Lady  turned  champion  of  the  absent 
Englishman. 

"  He  's  not  a  cad,  Nancy ;  he  is  a  thorough- 
bred little  Englishman.  I  have  seen  his  type 
before,  though  never  so  extreme  a  case.  He 
is  frank  and  honest  as  a  boy  can  be.  He's 
born  to  his  British  ways,  as  we  are  born  to 
ours.  It  is  only  that  you  're  not  used  to  him, 
and  don't  understand  him." 

"  He  does  n't  leave  much  to  the  imagina- 
tion," Nancy  observed  scathingly.  Then  she 
dropped  down  beside  the  Lady,  and  looked 
her  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  I  don't  want  you 
to  be  thinking  horrid  things  of  me,"  she  said 
slowly.     "  I   don't  want  you  to  think  I   have 

144 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAIXTE   ANNE 

been  two-sided  with  Mr.   Barth.     After  what 
happened  at  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre,  I    have 
tried  to  keep  out  of  his  way  as  much  as  possi- 
ble.     It  has  been  a  miserable  chance  that  has 
brought  us  into  such  close  quarters  ;  a  recog- 
nition was  n't  going  to  be  pleasant  for  either 
of  us.      But,  every  time   I   meet  the  man,  he 
seems  possessed  with  an  insane  desire  to  bab- 
ble to  me  about  his  ankle.      I  could  tell  more 
about  it  than  he  can,  for  I  was  in  league  with 
the  doctor,  and  heard  all  the  professional  de- 
tails.    A  dozen  times,  I  have  been  on  the  very 
verge    of    betraying    myself.      Last    night,    it 
reached  a  climax.      He  found  me  alone  in  the 
library,  and  he  began  to  talk.      Really,  he  was 
more  agreeable  than  I  ever  knew  him  before. 
But  you   know  how  it  is  :    the  presence  of  a 
grass   widow   always    moves   you    to   rake    up 
all    the   divorce   scandals  of  your   experience. 
Before  we  had  talked  for  ten  minutes,  the  man 
was  calmly   informing    me  that   he  was  really 
very    fond   of    his    nurse,   that,   in    the    secret 
recesses  of  his  heart,  he  called  her  his  Good 
Sainte   Anne,  that  he  wished   he   could   meet 
her  again,  and  finally  that  he  was  very  sorry 
he  had  tipped  her." 
"Indeed!" 

"  No ;  I  don't  mean  that,"  Nancy  protested 
10  145 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

hastily.  "  You  are  the  disloyal  one  now.  He 
did  n't  imply  that  she  had  not  deserved  the 
tip.  His  regrets  were  for  sentimental  reasons, 
not  frugal.  He  was  very  nice  and  honest 
about  it,  and  I  never  liked  him  half  so  well.'* 

"And  showed  it,"  the  Lady  added  gently. 

"  Very  likely  I  did.  I  don't  see  why  not. 
But,  to-day  !  "     Nancy  paused. 

"  What  happened  ? " 

"  Did  n't  he  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Only  his  side  of  it.  Still,  I  could  imagine 
the  rest." 

"No;  you  couldn't.  No  one  could,  with- 
out having  seen  it.  He  came  dashing,  fairly 
splashing,  into  the  parlor  where  Mr.  Brock 
and  I  were  squabbling  over  politics.  Only  a 
little  while  before,  I  had  been  defending  him 
to  Mr.  Brock,  telling  him  that  Mr.  Barth  was 
really  a  gentleman  and  clever,  that  I  liked  him 
extremely.  And  then,  on  the  heels  of  that 
statement,  the  man  came  whacking  into  the 
room,  interrupted  our  talk  without  a  shadow 
of  an  apology  and  then,  after  acting  like  a 
crazy  being,  he  capped  the  climax  of  his  sins 
by  specifically  inviting  me  to  talk  to  him  some 
more  about  Sainte  Anne." 

"Well?" 

"  Well." 

146 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

The  rising  cadence  was  met  by  the  falling 
one.     Then  silence  followed. 

"  Well,"  Nancy  resumed  at  length  ;  "  you  see 
my  predicament.  Mr.  Brock  knows  the  whole 
story  ;  I  let  it  out  to  him,  the  day  we  met.  I 
had  no  idea  I  should  ever  meet  Mr.  Barth  again, 
and  I  used  no  names.  Mr.  Brock  patched  to- 
gether the  two  ends  of  the  story,  and  told  M.  St. 
Jacques  ;  and  it  has  been  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
them  from  using  it  as  an  instrument  of  torture 
on  poor  Mr.  Barth.  To-day,  I  knew  Mr.  Brock 
was  furious  at  him  ;  I  knew  he  was  longing  to 
say  something,  and,  worst  of  all,  I  knew  he 
thought,  as  you  did,  that  I  had  been  coaxing 
Mr.   Barth  to  make  an  idiot  of  himself" 

"  Well  ^  "  the  Lady  said  again. 

"  And  he  does  it,  without  being  coaxed," 
Nancy  responded  mutinously.  Then  she  re- 
lented. "  But  he  was  so  pitifully  bent  on 
making  a  fool  of  himself,  just  when  I  had  been 
pleading  his  cause  to  the  very  best  of  my 
ability  !  He  babbled  at  us  till  I  was  on  the 
very  verge  of  frenzy.  Stop  him  I  could  not. 
He  absolutely  refused  to  know  when  he  was 
snubbed.  At  last,  I  fled  from  the  scene  and 
took  Mr.  Brock  with  me,  and,  for  all  I  know 
to  the  contrary,  the  man  may  be  sitting  there 
in  the  parlor,  babbling  still." 

147 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy  laughed ;  but  the  tears  were  near  the 
surface. 

"  And  then  ?  "  the  Lady  asked  gently. 

"  Then  I  came  up  here  and  bemoaned  my 
sinSj"  Nancy  answered,  with  utter  frankness. 
"  I  hate  to  be  hateful  ;  but  I  lost  my  head, 
and  could  n't  help  it.  Now  I  am  sorry,  for  I 
truly  like  Mr.  Barth,  and  I  know  I  scratched 
him  till  he  felt  it  clear  down  through  his 
veneering.  He  has  not  only  spoiled  my 
whole  evening;  but,  worse  than  that,  I  have 
an  apology  on  my  hands,  and  I  really  don't 
see  how  I  am  going  to  make  it,  without  being 
too  specific." 


148 


CHAPTER   THIRTEEN 

THIRTY-SIX    hours   after    his   banquet, 
St.  Jacques  reappeared    in   the  dining- 
room.      Barth  eyed   him   narrowly. 

"  Back  again  ? "  Nancy  queried  in  blithe 
greeting. 

"  At  last." 

"It  was  a  good  while.  How  are  you  feel- 
mg? 

Barth  felt  a  shock  of  surprise.  Did  Amer- 
ican girls  have  no  reservations  ? 

"A  good  deal  the  worse  for  wear,"  the 
Frenchman  was  replying,  with  equal  frank- 
ness. 

Nancy  laughed. 

"Any  particular  spot?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes,  my  head.  There's  nothing  much  to 
show;  but  it  feels  swollen  to  twice  its  usual 
size,  to-day." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  answered  sympatheti- 
cally.    "  Can  I  do  anything  for  it  .f"  " 

St.  Jacques  laughed,  as  his  face  lighted  with 
the  expression  Nancy  liked  so  well. 

149 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Does  your  pity  go  a  long  way  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  your  service." 

"  To  the  extent  of  a  walk,  after  dinner  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  you  feel  up  to  it,"  she  answered. 
"  It  is  a  delightful  day,  and  you  know  I  want 
to  hear  all  about  it.'* 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  morning,  Barth 
sought  the  Lady. 

"  Really,  it  is  none  of  my  affair ;  but  what  is 
the  girl  thinking  of?"  he  demanded. 

The  Lady's  mind  chanced  to  be  upon  the 
problem  involved  in  a  departing  waitress. 

"  What  girl  ?  "  she  asked  blankly. 

"  Miss  Howard." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Miss  Howard 
nowi^ 

"  I  don't  know.  What  can  she  be  thinking 
of,  to  go  for  a  walk  with  a  man  in  his  con- 
dition ?  "  he  expostulated. 

"  Whose  condition  ?  " 

"That  French  Catholic,  Mr.  St.  Jacques." 

"  But  there  's  nothing  wrong  with  his  con- 
dition. It  is  only  his  head,"  the  Lady  ex- 
plained. 

"  Oh,  yes.  That  is  what  I  mean.  She 
knows  it,  too." 

"  Of  course.  We  all  know  it,  and  we  all  are 
so  sorry." 

150 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Barth  was  still  possessed  of  his  self-made  idea, 
and  continued  his  argument  upon  that  basis. 

"  Naturally.  One  is  always  sorry  for  such 
things.  Sometimes  even  good  fellows  get 
caught.  Still,  that  is  no  reason  a  girl  should 
speak  of  it,  to  say  nothing  of  going  to  walk 
with  the  fellow.  Really,  Miss  Howard's 
father  ought  to  put  a  stop  to  it." 

This  time,  even  the  Lady  lost  her  patience. 

"Really,  Mr.  Barth,  I  don't  see  why.  On 
your  own  showing,  you  asked  Miss  Howard 
to  let  you  walk  home  from  the  library  with 
her,  two  days  ago." 

"Yes.      But  that  was  different." 

"  I  don't  see  how.  M.  St.  Jacques  is  as 
much  a  gentleman  as  you  are." 

"  Oh.      Do  you  think  so?      But  what  about 

his  head  ? " 

For  the  instant,  the  Lady  questioned  the 
stability  of  Barth's  own  head. 

"  I  really  can't  see  how  that  enters  into  the 
question  at  all.  Even  a  gentleman  is  liable  to 
be  hit  on  the  head,  when  he  is  playing  lacrosse." 

"  Lacrosse  ?  " 

"Yes.  M.  St.  Jacques  spent  yesterday  at 
Three    Rivers    with    the   lacrosse     team    from 

Laval." 

"  Oh."      In    his    mortification    at    his    own 


i=;i 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

blunder,  Earth's  oh  was  more  dissyllabic  even 
than  usual.  "  I  didn't  understand.  I  thought 
it  was  only  the  result  of  the  banquet." 

The  Lady  looked  at  him  with  a  steady, 
kindly  smile. 

"  Mr.  Earth,"  she  said  ;  "  I  really  think  that 
idea  was  not  quite  worthy  of  you." 

And  Earth  shut  his  lips  in  plucky  accept- 
ance of  the  rebuke. 

The  haunt  of  tourists  and  the  prey  of  every 
artist,  be  his  tools  brushes  or  mere  words, 
Sous-le-Cap  remains  the  crowning  joy  of 
ancient  Quebec.  The  inconsequent  bends  in 
its  course,  the  wood  flooring  of  its  roadway, 
the  criss-cross  network  of  galleries  and  ve- 
randas which  join  the  two  rows  of  houses  and 
throw  the  street  into  a  shadow  still  deeper 
than  that  cast  by  the  overhanging  cape,  the 
wall  of  naked  rock  that  juts  out  here  and  there 
between  the  houses  piled  helter-skelter  against 
the  base  of  the  cliff:  these  details  have  en- 
dured for  generations,  and  succeeding  gen- 
erations well  may  pray  for  their  continued 
endurance.  Quebec  could  far  better  afibrd  to 
lose  the  whole  ornate  length  of  the  Grand 
Allee  than  even  one  half  the  flying  galleries 
and  fluttering  clothes-lines  of  little  Sous-le- 
Cap. 

152 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"And  yet,"  St.  Jacques  said  thoughtfully; 
"  this  hardly  makes  me  proud  of  my  country- 
men." 

From  the  many-colored  garments  flapping 
on  the  clothes-lines,  Nancy  glanced  down  at  a 
scarlet-coated  child  playing  in  the  open  door- 
way of  a  shop  at  her  side. 

"  Don't  think  of  the  sociological  aspect  of 
the  case,"  she  advised  him.  "  Once  in  a  while, 
it  is  better  to  be  simply  picturesque  than  it  is 
to  be  hygienic.  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of 
America;  I  know  nothing  to  compare  with 
this." 

St.  Jacques  picked  his  way  daintily  among 
the  rubbish. 

"  I  hope  not.  I  also  hope  there  's  not  much 
in   France." 

"  You  have  been  there  ?  "  Nancy  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Not  yet.  After  two  more  years  at 
Laval." 

"  To  live  there  ?  " 

"  Only  to  study.     My  home  is  here." 

'^  Not  in  Quebec  ^  " 

"  No.  In  Rimouski.  I  am  a  country- 
man,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  shall  you  go  back  there  ?  " 

"It  is  impossible  to  tell.      I  hope  not;  but 

153 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

my  father  is  growing  older,  and  there  are  little 
children.  In  a  case  like  that,  one  can  never 
choose  for  himself,"  he  said,  with  a  little  ac- 
cent of  regret. 

"  But  your  profession,"  Nancy  reminded 
him.  "  Will  there  be  any  opening  for  it 
there  ?  " 

St.  Jacques  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  There  is  always  an  opening.  It  is  only  a 
question  whether  one  feels  too  large  to  try  to 
enter  it.  If  I  were  as  free  as  Mr.  Brock,  I 
would  come  back  here,  or  go  to  The  States. 
As  it  is,  I  am  not  free." 

"  Tell  me  about  Rimouski,"  Nancy  urged 
him. 

"  What  do  you  care  to  know  ?  It  is  a  little 
place.  The  ocean-going  steamers  stop  there  ; 
there  is  a  cathedral  and  a  seminary." 

"  Is  it  pretty  ?  " 

His  eyes  lighted. 

"  I  was  born  there,  Miss  Howard.  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  say.  Perhaps  sometime 
you   may  see  it  for  yourself" 

"  I  wish  I  might,"  the  girl  assented  idly. 

The  next  minute,  she  felt  herself  blushing, 
as  she  met  the  eager  look  on  the  face  of  her 
companion,  and  she  hurried  away  from  the 
dangerous  subject. 

154 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"How  long  shall  you  be  abroad?"  she 
asked  hastily. 

"  Two  years.'* 

"  Nearly  five  years  before  you  go  into  your 
professional  work." 

"Yes."  His  accent  dropped  a  little.  "It 
is  long  to  wait." 

"  It  depends  on  the  way  the  time  goes," 
Nancy  suggested,  with  a  fresh  determination  to 
drive  the  minor  key  from  his  voice.  "  Be- 
tween banquets  and  lacrosse  matches  and 
broken  heads,  your  days  ought  not  to  drag. 
Was  it  really  so  bad  a  bump  you  had?" 

Pushing  his  cap  still  farther  to  the  back  of 
his  head,  St.  Jacques  lifted  the  dark  hair  from 
his  forehead. 

"  So  much,"  he  said  coolly,  as  he  displayed  a 
short,  deep  cut. 

Nancy  exclaimed  in  horror. 

"M.  St.  Jacques!  And  you  take  it  with- 
out a  word  of  complaint." 

This  time,  he  laughed. 

"  Complaint  never  mends  a  split  head.  Miss 
Howard.  We  Frenchmen  take  our  knocks 
and  say   nothing." 

"Is  that  aimed  at  Mr.  Barth?"  Nancy  asked. 

St.  Jacques  shook  his  head  ;  but  his  lips  and 
eyes  denied  the  gesture  of  negation. 

155 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Really,"  she  urged  ;  "  he  did  n't  complain." 

"  No  ;  but  he  talked  about  it  more  than  I 
cared  to  listen." 

"Aren't  you  a  little  hard  on  him,  M.  St. 
Jacques  ?  " 

The  Frenchman  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Is  he  your  friend,  then  ? "  he  queried 
gravely. 

"Yes.  No.  I  don't  know."  Nancy  was 
vainly  struggling  to  frame  her  reply  according 
to  the  strictest  truth.  "  I  think  he  thought 
so  ;  but  now  we  don't  know." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  understand,"  St. 
Jacques  said,  with  slow  formality.  "  As  your 
friend,  I  shall  treat  him  with  respect.  Other- 
wise —  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  n't  my  friend,"  Nancy  explained 
hurriedly.  "  We  have  had  an  awful  fight ;  at 
least,  not  exactly  a  fight,  but  I  was  rude  to 
him." 

St.  Jacques  interrupted  her. 

"  Then  it  will  make  up  for  some  of  the  times 
he  has  been  rude  to  me,  and  I  shall  be  still 
more  in  your  debt." 

Nancy  shook  her  head  ruefully. 

"  No ;  we  can't  square  our  accounts  that 
way,  M,  St.  Jacques.  I  have  seen  Mr.  Barth 
detestably  rude  to  you,  and  it  never  once  has 

156 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

dawned  upon  him  that  he  was  n't  the  very 
pink  of  courtesy.  With  me,  it  was  different. 
I  did  my  very  best,  not  only  to  be  rude  to  him  ; 
but  to  have  him  know  that  I  meant  it." 

Again  came  the  answering  flash  over  the 
Frenchman's  face. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  did  it,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  I  'm  not,  then,"  Nancy  said  flatly.  "  I 
hate  making  apologies." 

"  Then  let  him  apologize  to  you,"  St.  Jacques 
suggested,  laughing.  "He  has  no  right  to 
put  himself  in  the  wrong  so  far  as  to  make  you 
feel  it  worth  your  while  to  be  rude  to  him." 

Nancy  laughed  in  her  turn. 

"  M.  St.  Jacques,  you  do  not  like  Mr. 
Barth,"  she  said  merrily. 

"  No,  Miss  Howard  ;  I  do  not.  It  will  be 
a  happy  day  for  me,  when  he  takes  himself  out 
to  his  ranch." 

"  But  I  shall  have  gone,  long  before  that," 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

St.  Jacques  turned  upon  her  with  a  sudden- 
ness which  startled  her. 

"  So  soon  as  that  ?  " 

"  Sooner.  Three  or  four  weeks  more  here 
will  see  the  end  of  our  stay." 

The  blood  rolled  hotly  upward  across  his 
swarthy  face.     Then  it  rolled  back  again^  leav- 

157 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Ing  behind  it  a  pallor  that  brought  his  thin  lips 
and  resolute  chin  into  strong  relief. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  thought 
you  had  come  to  stay." 

"  Only  till  my  father  has  ransacked  every 
book  in  your  Laval  library,"  she  said,  with 
intentional  lightness. 

He  declined  to  answer  her  tone.  The  words 
of  his  reply  dropped,  clear,  distinct,  slow,  upon 
her  ears. 

''  No  matter.  Perhaps  some  day  you  may 
come  back  to  Canada,  Miss  Howard,  come 
back,  I  mean,  to  stay." 

Nancy  drew  two  or  three  short,  quick  breaths. 
Then  she  laughed  with  a  forced  mirth. 

"  Perhaps.  One  can  never  tell.  I  like 
Canada,"  she  said  nervously. 

St.  Jacques  faced  her. 

"  And  the  Canadians  ?  "  he  asked  steadily. 

His  dark  eyes  held  hers  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  found  herself  repeating  his  words, — 

"Yes,  and  the  Canadians." 

A  moment  later,  she  gave  a  sudden  start  of 
surprise  and  relief  Rounding  a  sharp  angle 
in  the  winding  street,  they  had  found  them- 
selves directly  upon  the  heels  of  Mr.  Cecil 
Barth  who  was  sauntering  slowly  along  just 
ahead  of  them.     Turning  at  the  sound  of  their 

158 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

feet  on  the  board  roadway,  he  bowed  to  Nancy 
with  deprecating  courtesy,  to  her  companion 
with  studied  carelessness. 

Nancy's  quick  eye  caught  the  veiled  hos- 
tility of  the  salute  exchanged  by  the  two  men. 
Her  own  poise  was  shaken  by  the  little  scene 
through  which  she  had  just  been  passing,  but 
she  made  a  desperate  effort  to  regain  control 
of  the  situation. 

"  Mr.  Barth,"  she  said  impetuously. 

Barth  had  resumed  his  stroll.  At  her  words, 
he  turned  back  instantly. 

"Why  not  wait  for  us?"  she  suggested,  as 
she  held  out  her  hand  with  frank  cordiality. 
"  M.  St.  Jacques  deserves  congratulations  from 
us  all,  for  his  record  at  lacrosse,  yesterday ;  and 
I  know  you  '11  like  to  add  your  voice  to  the 
general  chorus.  And,  besides  that,  I  owe  you 
an  apology.  I  was  very  rude  to  you,  yes- 
terday ;  but,  at  least,  I  have  the  saving 
grace  to  be  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself, 
to-day." 

And  Barth,  as  he  took  her  hand,  felt  that 
that  minute  atoned  for  many  a  bad  half-hour 
she  had  given  him  in  the  past. 

Together,  they  came  out  from  under  the 
hanging  balconies,  strayed  on  through  Sault- 
au-Matelot   and,   coming  up   Mountain    Hill 

159 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

Street,  wandered  out  along  the  Battery.  There 
they  lingered  to  lean  on  the  wall  and  stare 
across  the  river  at  the  heights  of  Levis  bathed 
in  its  sunset  light  which  is  neither  purple,  nor 
yet  altogether  of  gold.  To  Nancy,  the  light 
was  typical  of  the  hour.  The  girl  was  no 
egotist ;  yet  all  at  once  she  instinctively  realized 
that  one  or  the  other  of  these  men  was  holding 
the  key  to  her  life.  Which  it  should  be,  as 
yet  she  could  not  know.  The  hour  had  come, 
unsought,  unexpected.  For  the  present,  it 
was  better  to  drift.  The  mood  of  St.  Jacques 
was  kindred  to  her  own.  As  for  Barth,  he  was 
supremely  content,  without  in  the  least  know- 
ing why  his  recent  dissatisfaction  should  have 
fallen  from  him. 

While  they  lingered  by  the  wall,  to  watch 
the  fading  glow.  Dr.  Howard  suddenly  stepped 
out  into  the  road  behind  them.  As  he  came 
through  the  gate  in  the  old  stone  wall,  his 
glance  rested  upon  the  trio  of  familiar  figures, 
and  his  voice  rang  out  in  hearty  greeting. 

"  Well,  Nancy,"  he  called.  "  Are  you  watch- 
ing for  a  hostile  fleet  ?  " 

With  the  eagerness  which  never  failed  to 
welcome  him,  she  turned  to  face  her  father; 
but,  midway  in  her  turning,  she  was  stopped 
by  Barth's  voice. 

i6o 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"Nancy!"  he  echoed.  "Are  you  another 
Nancy  Howard?" 

She  faltered.  Then  she  met  his  blue  eyes 
full  and  steadily. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  fearless  directness. 
"  So  far  as  I  know,  Mr.  Barth,  I  am  the  only 
one. 


II  i6i 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN 

WITH  masculine  obtuseness,  Barth  re- 
garded it  as  a  matter  of  pure  chance 
that  he  found  Nancy  standing  alone  in  the  hall, 
that  night. 

"  Please  go  away  and  take  M.  St.  Jacques 
with  you,"  she  had  begged  Brock,  as  he  had 
left  the  table.  "  I  must  have  it  out  with  him 
sometime,  and  I  'd  rather  have  it  over." 

Brock  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Will  an  hour  be  long  enough  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  can't  tell.  Please  bid  me  good  night 
now,"  she  urged   him. 

He  smiled  reassuringly  down  into  her  anxious 
eyes. 

"  Don't  take  the  situation  too  tragically. 
Miss  Howard,"  he  said,  with  a  brotherly  kind- 
ness she  was  quick  to  feel  as  a  relief  to  her 
strained  nerves.  "You  weren't  to  blame  in 
the  first  place,  and  I  can  bear  witness  that  you 
have  been  the  most  loyal  friend  he  has  had. 
If  he  is  a  bit  unpleasant  about  it,  send  him  to 
me,  and  I'll    knock   him  down."     He  rose; 

162 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

but  he  lingered  long  enough  to  add, "  I  '11  look 
in  on  you,  about  nine  o'clock,  and  see  if  I  can 
help  pick  up  the  pieces."  And,  with  a  nod  of 
farewell,  he  was  gone. 

"Are  you  busy?  "  Barth  asked,  as  he  joined 
her,  a  little  later. 

''Am  I  ever  busy  in  this  indolent  atmos- 
phere? "  she  questioned  in  return,  with  a  futile 
effort  for  her  usual  careless  manner. 

"  Sometimes,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  But 
what  if  we  come  into  the  drawing-room  ?  It 
is  quieter  there." 

He  spoke  gently,  yet  withal  there  was  some- 
thing masterful  in  his  manner,  and  Nancy  felt 
that  her  hour  was  come.  Nervously  she  tried 
to  anticipate  it. 

"  And  you  need  a  quiet  place  for  the  scene 
of  the  fray  ?  "  she  asked  flippantly. 

"  Fray  ?  "     His  accent  was  interrogative. 

"  For  the  discussion,  then." 

He  was  moving  a  chair  forward.  Then  he 
looked  up  sharply,  as  he  stood  aside  for  her  to 
take  it. 

"  I  can't  see  that  there  is  reason  for  any 
discussion,   Miss  Howard." 

"  But  you  know  you  think  I  have  been 
playing  a  double  game  with  you,"  Nancy 
broke  out,  in  sudden  irritation  at  his   quiet. 

163 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

His  hands  In  his  pockets,  he  walked  across 
to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out.  Then 
he  turned  to  face  Nancy. 

"  No.      I  am  not  sure  that  I  do.** 

"You  feel  that  I  ought  to  have  told  you 
before  ? " 

"It  would  have  been  a  little  fairer  to  me," 
he  assented. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  she  said  defensively. 

Barth  raised  his  blue  eyes  to  her  face,  and 
she  repented  her  untruth. 

"  At  least,"  she  amended ;  "  I  don't  see 
what  difference  it  would  have  made." 

"  Perhaps  not.  Still,  it  is  n't  pleasant 
to  be  a  stranger,  and  the  one  person  out- 
side a  secret  which  concerns  one's  self  most 
of  all." 

"  No." 

"  I  wish  you  had  told  me,"  he  said  thought- 
fully. "It  might  have  prevented  some  things 
that  now  I  should  like  to  forget." 

"  For  instance  ?  " 

"  For  instance,  the  way  I  have  told  you 
details  with  which  you  were  already  familiar." 

Nancy  laughed  nervously. 

"  And  some  with  which  I  was  n't  familiar  at 
all,"  she  added. 

Earth's   color  rose  to  the  roots  of  his  hair, 

164 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

and  he  bit  his  lip.  Then  he  answered,  with 
the  same  level  accent,  — 

"Yes.  But  even  you  must  admit  that  my 
error  was  unintentional." 

Nancy  sat  up  straight  in  her  deep  chair. 

"Even  me  !  "  she  echoed  stormily.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Mr.  Barth  ?  " 

He  met  her  angry  eyes  fearlessly,  yet  with 
perfect  respect. 

"  Even  you  who  were  willing  to  take  all  the 
advantage  of  a  complete  stranger." 

"  But  I  took  no  advantage,"  she  protested. 

"  No,"  he  admitted,  after  a  pause.  "  Per- 
haps it  was  forced  upon  you.  However,  you 
accepted  it.  Miss  Howard,"  he  paused  again  ; 
"we  Eng-lishmen  dislike  to  make  ourselves 
needlessly  ridiculous." 

She  started  to  interrupt  him  ;  but  he  gave 
her  no  opportunity. 

"  I  was  ridiculous.  I  can  fancy  how  funny 
it  all  must  have  seemed  to  you :  my  meeting 
you  here  without  recognizing  you,  my  telling 
you  over  all  my  regard  for  my  former  nurse. 
Of  course,  I  must  have  seemed  an  ass  to  you, 
and  to  Mr.  Brock  and  Mr.  St.  Jacques,  too, 
after  you  had  told  them." 

This  time,  Nancy  did  interrupt  him. 

"  Stop,     Mr.     Barth !  "    she     said    angrily. 

165 


BY  THE   GOOD   SATNTE   ANNE 

"  Now  you  are  the  one  who  is  unfair.  I  did 
tell  Mr.  Brock  about  our  adventure  at  Sainte 
Anne-de-Beaupre ;  but  it  was  when  I  first 
met  him,  when  I  had  no  idea  that  either  of 
us  would  ever  see  you  again.  I  told  the  ad- 
venture ;  but  I  used  no  names.  You  had  been 
in  the  house  for  several  days  before  Mr.  Brock 
found  out  that  you  were  my  former  patient, 
and  he  found  it  out  then  from  your  own  lips. 
When  he  told  M.  St.  Jacques,  or  whether  he 
told  him  at  all,  I  am  unable  to  say.  I  do 
know  that  M.  St.  Jacques  knew  it;  but,  upon 
my  honor,  I  have  told  no  one  but  the  Lady 
and  Mr.  Reginald  Brock." 

Bravely,  angrily,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 
Notwithstanding  his  former  doubts,  Barth  be- 
lieved her  implicitly. 

"  Forgive  my  misunderstanding  you,  then,'* 
he  said  simply.  "  But  why  could  n't  you  have 
told  me  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  briefly.  "  It  seemed 
to  me  out  of  the  question." 

"  Even  when  we  were  introduced  ? "  he 
urged. 

"  It  was  before  that  that  you  had  refused  to 
recognize  me." 

i66 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"When  was  that?  " 

"At  the  table,  the  first  time  you  reappeared 
here,"  she  said  vindictively.  "  I  did  my  best 
to  speak  to  you  then ;  but  you  tried  to  give 
me  the  impression  that  you  had  never  seen 
me  before." 

Barth  bowed  in  assent. 

"  I  never  had.  You  forget  that  my  glasses 
were  lost.  You  should  be  generous  to  a  near- 
sighted man.  Miss  Howard,  as  you  once  were 
kind  to  a  cripple.  You  might  have  given  me 
another  chance,  when  we  were  introduced." 

"  There  was  nothing  to  show  you  cared  for 
it,"  Nancy  returned  curtly. 

"  And,  even  at  Sainte  Anne,  you  might  have 
told  me  you  were  coming  to  Quebec,"  he  went 
on.  "  You  knew  I  was  coming  here ;  you 
might  have  given  me  the  opportunity  to  call 
and  thank  you." 

Impatiently  Nancy  clasped  her  hands  and 
unclasped  them. 

"What  is  the  use  of  arguing  about  it  all  ?  " 
she  demanded  restlessly.  "You  never  could 
see  the  truth  of  it;  no  man  could.  I  don't 
want  to  beg  off  and  make  excuses.  I  have 
been  in  a  false  position  from  the  start.  I 
never  made  it,  nor  even  sought  it.  It  all 
came  from  chance.     Still,  it  has  been  impossi- 

167 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

ble  for  me  to  get  myself  out  of  it;  but  truly, 
Mr.  Barth/'  she  looked  up  at  him  appealingly  ; 
"  from  the  first  hour  I  met  you  at  Sainte  Anne 
until  to-day,  I  have  never  meant  to  be  disloyal 
to  you." 

"  Then  why  could  n't  you  have  told  me  you 
had  met  me  before  ?  "  he  asked,  returning  to 
his  first  question  with  a  curious  persistency. 

Nancy  fenced  with  the  question. 

"  But,  strictly  speaking,  I  had  not  met  you." 

Barth's  eyes  opened  to  their  widest  limit. 

"  Oh,  really,"  he  said  blankly. 

"  No ;  not  in  any  social  sense.  Nobody 
introduced  us.     I  was  just  your  nurse." 

Suddenly,  for  the  first  time  since  the  discov- 
ery of  Nancy's  identity,  there  flashed  upon 
Barth's  mind  the  thought  of  the  guinea.  He 
turned  scarlet.     Then  he  rallied. 

"  Miss  Howard,"  he  said  slowly,  as  he  took 
the  chair  at  her  side ;  "  I  am  not  sure  you 
were  the  only  one  who  has  been  placed  in  a 
false  position." 

The  girl's  irritation  vanished,  and  she 
laughed. 

"  About  the  guinea  ?  Perhaps  we  can  cry 
quits,  Mr.  Barth.  Still,  your  mistake  was 
justifiable.     You  took  me  for  a  nurse." 

"  Yes.     And  so  you  were." 

i68 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXNE 

"Thank  you  for  the  hnplied  compliment. 
But,  I  mean,  for  a  hired  nurse." 

"  Certainly.      I   did   hire   you.     At  least,   I 

paid  you  wa —  " 

In  mercy  to  his  later  reflections,  Nancy  cut 
him  off  in  the  midst  of  his  phrase. 

"  Perhaps.  We  knew  you  would  n't  let  me 
do  it  out  of  charity,  so  my  father  collected  his 
usual  fee  in  two  ways." 

Earth's  glasses  had  fallen  from  his  nose. 
Now,  his  eyes  still  on  Nancy's  face,  he  felt 
vaguely  for  the  string. 

"And  you  never  received  your  money?" 

Again  the  frosty  accent  came  into  Nancy's 

tone. 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Oh,  what  a  beastly  shame  !  "  And,  seiz- 
ing his  glasses,  Earth  stared  at  her  in  commis- 
erating surprise. 

For  a  short  instant,  Nancy  longed  to  tweak 
the  glasses  from  his  nose.     Then  she  laughed. 

"  As  a  rule,  I  don't  nurse  people  for  money, 
Mr.  Earth,"  she  said  lightly. 

"No?     How  generous  you  must  be.  Miss 

Howard  ! " 

Was  there  ever  a  more  maddening  combma- 
tion  of  manly  simplicity  and  Eritish  bigotry, 
Nancy  reflected  impatiently.      ISIore  and  more 

1C9 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

she  began  to  despair  of  making  her  position 
clear.     Nevertheless,  she  went  on  steadily,  — 

"And,  in  fact,  you  were  my  one  and  only 
patient." 

"That  you  have  ever  had,  in  all  your 
professional  life  ? " 

"  I  never  had  any  professional  life,"  Nancy 
replied  shortly. 

Earth's  face  showed  his  increasing  perplexity. 

"  But  you  are  a  nurse." 

"  No,"  Nancy  answered  in  flat  negation. 

"You  nursed  me." 

"  After  a  fashion." 

"What  for?" 

Again  Nancy's  impatience  gave  place  to 
mirth. 

"To  cure  you,  of  course." 

"Rather!  But  I  didn't  mean  that.  We 
all  know  it,  in  fact;  and  you  did  it  awfully 
well.  But  what  made  you  —  er  —  pick  me 
out  in  the  first  place  ^  " 

"  Pick  you  out  P  "  This  time,  Nancy  was 
the  one  to  show  perplexity. 

"Yes.  How  did  you  happen  to  choose  me 
for  a  patient  ?  " 

Nancy  gasped  at  the  new  phase  of  the  situa- 
tion opened  by  Barth's  words.  In  his  British 
ignorance  of  American  customs,  did  he  think 

170 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE  AXNE 

that  she  habitually  wandered  about  the  coun- 
try, selecting  attractive  strangers  to  be  the 
objects  of  her  feminine  ministrations  ? 

"I  didn't  choose  you,"  she  said  indignantly. 

"Then,  by  George,  how  did  you  get  me?  " 
Mr.  Cecil  Barth  queried,  by  this  time  too 
tangled  in  the  web  of  mystery  to  select  his 
words  with  care. 

Nancy  blushed;  then  she  frowned;  then 
she  laughed  outright. 

"Mr.    Barth,"    she   said   at    last;    "we    are 

talking  in  two  different  languages.      If  we  keep 

on,  we  shall   end   by    needing   an   interpreter. 

This  is  the  whole  of  my  side  of  the  story,  so 

please  listen.      I   am  not  a  nurse.      I   am   not 

anything  but  just  a  commonplace  American  girl 

who  dances  and  who  eats  fish  in  Lent.      My 

father  is  a  doctor,  and,  even  in  New  York,  one 

knows  his   name.     He  came  up   here  to  rest 

and   to  gather  materials  for  a  monograph  on 

the   miracles  of  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre,  and 

I  came  with  him.      I  always  do  go  with  him. 

We  had  been  at  Sainte  Anne  a  little  more  than 

a  week,  when  there  was  a  pilgrimage.      I  had 

never  seen  a  pilgrimage,  so   I   went  down   to 

the  church.     As  I  was  coming  out  afterwards, 

I  saw  some  one  fall.     No  one  was  near,  except 

the   pilgrim    people;    and  they    all    lost    their 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

heads  and  fell  to  crowding  and  gesticulating. 
I  was  afraid  you  would  be  trodden  on  ;  and 
my  father  has  always  trained  me  what  to  do  in 
emergencies,  so  I  told  the  people  to  stand 
back.  By  the  time  I  could  get  to  you,  you 
had  fainted  ;  but  I  saw  you  were  no  pilgrim. 
In  fact,"  Nancy  added,  with  sudden  malice  ; 
"  I  took  you  for  an  American." 

Barth  winced. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  you  were  very  kind,"  he 
protested  hastily. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so.  Well,  you  know 
the  rest  of  the  story." 

Barth  rose  and  stood  facing  her.- 

"  No,"  he  objected.  "  That  is  exactly  what  I 
do  not  know." 

"  How  you  were  taken  to  the  Gagnier 
farm  ?  " 

"  How  you  became  my  nurse,"  he  persisted 
quietly.  "  Please  don't  leave  that  out  of  your 
story.  Miss  Howard." 

She  smiled. 

"  It  was  sheer  necessity,  Mr.  Barth.  You 
said  you  spoke  no  French ;  neither  did  I. 
You  were  suffering  and  in  need  of  a  doctor 
at  once.  I  knew  of  no  doctor  there  but  my 
father,  and  you  assented  to  my  suggestion  of 
him.     He  will  tell  you  that  your  ankle  was  in 

172 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXXE 

a  bad  condition  and  needed  constant  care.  I 
knew  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  give  it,  and 
I  telegraphed  all  over  Quebec  in  a  vain  search 
for  a  nurse.  I  could  n't  get  one  ;  neither,  for 
the  sake  of  a  few  conventions,  could  I  let  you 
end  your  days  with  a  stiff  ankle.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  be  done,  and  I  did  it."  She 
stopped  for  a  moment.  Then  she  added,  "  I 
only  hope  I  may  not  have  done  it  too  clumsily. 
It  was  new  work  for  me,  Mr.  Barth  ;  but  I  did 
the  very  best  I  could." 

In  her  earnest  self-justification,  she  sat  look- 
ing up  at  Barth  with  the  unconscious  eyes  of  a 
child.      Barth  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Miss  Howard,  you  must  have  thought  me 
an  awful  cad,"  he  said  contritely. 

"  I  did,  at  first ;  but  now  I  know  better,"  she 
answered  honestly.  "  There  was  no  real  reason 
you  should  have  known  I  was  not  an  hireling. 
At  first,  I  resented  it,  though.  I  resented  it 
again,  when  you  came  here  and  did  n't  recog- 
nize me.  It  seemed  to  me  impossible  that  you 
could  have  spent  ten  days  with  me,  and  for- 
gotten me  so  completely.  It  was  n't  flattering 
to  my  vanity,  Mr.  Barth  ;  and  I  only  gained 
my  lost  self-respect  when  you  informed  me, 
the   other  day,  that  you  were  still   hoping  to 


meet  me  agam. 


173 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

He  echoed  her  laugh ;  but  his  tone  was  a 
little  eager,  as  he  added, — 

"And  that,  in  my  secret  thoughts,  I  used  to 
call  you  my  Good  Sainte  Anne  ?  " 

Nancy  shook  her  head. 

"  Never  that,  I  fear,"  she  answered  lightly. 
"  The  Good  Sainte  Anne  works  miracles,  Mr. 
Barth." 

"  Oh,  yes,''  he  said  slowly.  "  I  know  she 
does.  But  sometimes  the  surest  miracles  are 
the  slowest  to  reach   their  full  perfection." 

"And  there  are  many  pilgrims  to  her  shrine 
who  go  away  again  without  having  beheld  a 
miracle,"  she  reminded  him,  still  with  the  same 
lightness. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  "  he  answered  gravely.  "  Still, 
do  you  know,  Miss  Howard,  I  may  be  the  one 
exception  who  proves  the  rule." 


174 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

"  A  -^-^  what  next?"    Brock  inquired,  the 
xV     next  morning. 

''  Market,"  Nancy  replied. 

"  To  spend  your  guinea  ?  " 

"  Hush !  "    she   bade    him,  with   a    startled 
gknce  over  her  shoulder. 

■  "  Oh,  you  need  n't  worry.  Barth  never  gets 
around  till  the  fifty-ninth  minute.  He'll  wait 
until  the  last  trump  sounds,  before  he  orders 
his  ascension  robe,  and  then  he  '11  tip  Saint 
Peter  to  hold  the  gate  open  while  he  puts  it 
on.     But  what  about  the  market  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  with  the  Lady." 

"  To  carry  the  basket  ?  " 

"  No.     I  '11    leave    that    for    you,"     Nancy 
retorted. 

A    sudden     iniquitous    idea     shot     athwart 
Brock's  brain. 

"Very  well.     What  time  do  you  start?  " 

"At  ten." 

"  Right,  oh  !     I  '11  be  on  hand." 

An  equally  iniquitous  idea  entered  Nancy's 
head. 

175 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  market  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Never." 

"  And  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  do." 

"  Then  we  can  count  on  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Ten  o'clock  sharp.  If  I  'm  not 
there,  I  '11  agree  to  send  a  substitute.  But 
count  on  me." 

When  they  went  their  separate  ways  from 
breakfast,  Brock  sought  the  town  house  of  the 
Duke  of  Kent ;  but  Nancy  went  in  search  of 
the  Lady. 

"  Were  you  going  to  take  Tommy  to  carry 
the  basket  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.      He  always  goes." 

"  And  will  the  basket  be  very  huge  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Good  !  "  Nancy  said,  laughing.  "  I  am 
glad,  for  we  are  going  to  leave  Tommy  at 
home,  to-day,  and  take  Mr.  Brock  in  his 
place." 

"  Nancy  !  "  the  Lady  remonstrated. 

"  He  insisted  upon  being  invited,"  Nancy 
returned  obdurately  ;  "  and,  if  he  does  go,  he 
must  be  made  useful.  We  sha'n't  need  both 
him  and  Tommy ;  Mr.  Brock  wants  to  carry 
the  basket." 

Brock,  meanwhile,  had  left  the  maid  stand- 

176 


BY  THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

ing  In  the  lower  hallway  and,  two  steps  at  a 
time,  was  mounting  the  ducal  staircase  which 
led  to  Earth's  room.  His  fist,  descending  upon 
the  panels,  cleft  the  Englishman's  dream  in  two. 

"  Oh,  yes.  What  is  it  ?  Wait  a  bit,  and 
I  '11  let  you  in." 

From  the  other  side  of  the  door,  muffled 
sounds  betrayed  the  fact  that  Earth  was  strug- 
gling with  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers. 
Then  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  Earth  stood 
on  the  threshold.  He  started  back  in  aston- 
ishment, as  he  caught  sight  of  his  unexpected 
guest. 

"Oh.      Mr.  Erock?" 

"  Yes.  Sorry  to  have  routed  you  out  so 
early  ;  but  I  came  to  bring  you  word  from 
Miss  Howard  and  the   Lady." 

Earth  stepped  away  from  the  doorway. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said  hospitably.  "  Excuse 
the  look  of  the  place,  though." 

Brock's    keen    eyes    swept   the    room    with 

direct,  impersonal  curiosity,  took   note  of  the 

half-unpacked   boxes,  the  piles  of  books,  the 

heaps  of  clothing,  then  moved  back  to   Earth's 

face,  where  they  rested  with  mirthful,  kindly 

scrutiny.     Then    he     crossed    the    room    and 

dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  window. 

"  You    brought    me  a  message   from   Miss 
12  177 


BY    THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Howard  ?  "  Barth  queried  tentatively,  after  a 
pause  which  his  companion  seemed  disinclined 
to  break. 

''  Not  so  much  a  message  as  a  —  a  sugges- 
tion," Brock  answered,  with  a  hesitation  so 
short  as  to  escape  the  Englishman's  ear. 
"  Miss  Howard  and  the  Lady  are  going  to 
market,  this  morning,  and  I  gathered,  from 
what  Miss  Howard  said,  that  she  would  like 
you  to  be  on  hand." 

"  To  —  market?  " 

"  Yes.  She  evidently  thought  you  under- 
stood it  was  an  engagement.  The  only  ques- 
tion seemed  to  be  about  the  hour." 

"  Oh.     What  time  do  they  go  ?  " 

"Ten." 

"  And  now  ?  " 

"  It  is  past  nine  now." 

Barth  stepped  to  the  table  and  glanced  at 
his  watch. 

"  Fifteen  past  nine,"  he  read.  "  There  is 
plenty  of  time.  And  you  are  sure  Miss 
Howard  wanted  me  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  Brock  answered,  with  brazen 
mendacity. 

"How  strange!"  observed  Mr.  Cecil  Barth. 

"  Strange  that  she  should  want  you  ?  Oh, 
not  at  all,"  Brock  demurred  politely. 

178 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

"Oh,  no.  Strange  that  she  shouldn't  have 
mentioned  it  before." 

"  Did  n't  she  say  anything  about  it,  last 
night  ^  "  Brock  inquired. 

"  No.     At  least,  I  don't  remember  it." 

"  It  may  have  slipped  her  mind.  You  had 
a  good  deal  to  talk  over,  I   believe.'* 

"  What  do  people  do,  when  they  go  to 
market  ?  "  Barth  queried,  with  sudden  and  in- 
tentional inconsequence. 

"  Buy  things." 

"Yes.     But  what  sort  of  things  ?  " 

"  Have  n't  you  been  down  into  the  market 
yet  ? "  Brock  asked,  as  he  craned  his  neck 
to  watch  two  girls  passing  in  the  street 
beneath. 

"Oh,  no.     Why  should  I?" 

"  Strangers  generally  do  ;  it  is  quite  one  of 
the  sights." 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  begin  dressing,  Mr. 
Brock  ?     What  sort  of  sights  ?  " 

"  Oh,  cabbages,  and  pigs,  and  country 
things  like  that." 

Barth's  brows  knotted,  partly  over  his 
dressing,  partly  over  his  effort  to  grasp  the 
situation. 

"And  is  Miss  Howard  going  down  to  —  to 
look  at  those  things  ?  "  he  inquired. 

179 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  No,   man ;  of  course  not.     She   is  going 
down  with  the  Lady  to  buy  them." 

<'To  —  buy  —  a  pig?"  Barth  spoke  in 
three  detached  sentences. 

Brock  smothered  his  merriment  according 
to  the  best  of  his  abihty. 

"The  Lady  will  do  the  buying.  Miss 
Howard  goes  to  look  on." 

"And  does  she  expect  me  to  look  on, 
too?" 

"  Certainly." 

Barth  sat  with  his  shoe  horn  hanging  loosely 
in  his  hand. 

"  But,  Mr.  Brock,  I  don't  know  a  bad  pig 
from  a  good  one,"  he  protested  hastily. 

"Oh,  it's  quite  easy  to  tell.  Just  pinch 
him  a  bit  about  the  ribs.  If  he  is  fat  and 
squeals  nicely,  he'll  go.  But,  as  I  understand 
it,  you  are  n't  to  do  the  marketing.  You  are 
expected  to  carry  the  basket  for  them." 

Barth  looked  up  from  his  second  shoe. 

"  The  basket  ?  " 

"Yes.  Women  here  take  their  baskets 
with  them." 

"  And  get  them  filled  ?  " 
"Surely.     Then  they  bring  them  home." 
Barth  finished  the  tying  of  his  shoestrings. 
Then  he  rose  and  picked  up  his  collar, 

1 80 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Oh,  really  ! "  he  remonstrated,  as  he 
fumbled  with  the  buttonholes.  "  Miss  How- 
ard can't  be  expecting  that  I  am  going  to  bring 
a  pig  home  in  my  arms." 

Brock  rose. 

*'  It  is  never  safe  to  predict  what  a  pretty 
woman  will  expect  next,"  he  said  oracularly. 
"  I  usually  make  a  point  of  being  ready  for 
almost  anything.  As  far  as  Miss  Howard  is 
concerned,  I  'd  rather  carry  a  pig  for  her  than 
a  bunch  of  roses  for  some  women." 

This  time.  Brock's  words  rang  true.  More- 
over, they  dismissed  any  doubts  lingering  in 
the  mind  of  his  companion. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  "  he  assented,  with  some  en- 
thusiasm. 

A  mocking  light  came  into  Brock's  clear 
eyes. 

"  I  am  glad  you  agree  with  me.  You  knew 
her  before  I  did,  I  believe." 

"  Yes.  At  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre.  Miss 
Howard  was  very  good  to  me,  when  I  v/as 
there."  Over  the  top  of  his  half-fastened  col- 
lar, Barth  spoke  with  simple  dignity. 

Brock  liked  the  tone. 

"  I  can  imagine  it,  Barth,"  he  answered,  with 
a  sudden  wave  of  liking  for  the  loyal  little 
Englishman  before  him.     "  Both  St.  Jacques 


i«i 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

and  I  would  gladly  have  offered  up  our  ankles 
at  the  shrine  of  Sainte  Anne,  for  such  a  chance 
as  yours." 

"  What  kind  of  a  chance  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Chance  to  be  coddled  by  Miss  Howard,  of 
course." 

Barth  slid  the  string  of  his  glasses  over  his 
head,  put  on  his  glasses  and  looked  steadily  up 
at  Brock. 

"  It  was  a  chance,"  he  assented  gravely. 
"  Chance  and  the  handiwork  of  the  Good 
Sainte  Anne.  It  might  have  meant  a  good 
deal  to  me.  Instead,  I  threw  it  all  away  by  my 
own  dulness ;  and  now,  instead  of  having  the 
advantage  of  a  three-weeks'  acquaintance,  I 
have  to  start  at  the  very  beginning  once  more. 
If,  as  you  are  hinting,  you  and  Mr.  St.  Jacques 
and  I  are  on  a  strife  to  win  the  regard  of  Miss 
Howard,  you  and  Mr.  St.  Jacques  have  already 
distanced  me  in  the  race." 

Brock  laughed;  but  his  eyes  had  grown 
surprisingly  gentle.  In  all  his  easy-going  life, 
a  life  when  friends  and  their  confidences 
had  been  his  for  the  asking,  few  things  had 
touched  him  as  did  this  direct,  simple  expres- 
sion of  trust  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Cecil  Barth. 
Contrary  to    his    custom,   he   met    confidence 

with  confidence. 

182 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   AXNE 

"  You  're  a  good  fellow,  Barth,"  he  said 
heartily.  "  I  am  a  little  out  of  the  running, 
myself.  I  'd  like  to  wish  you  success,  if  I 
could  ;  but  St.  Jacques  is  the  older  friend.'* 
Then,  relenting,  he  recurred  to  the  object  of 
his  call.  "  Now  see  here,  Barth,"  he  added  ; 
"  you  need  n't  feel  obliged  to  go  to  market. 
There  may  be  some  joke  in  the  matter.  Miss 
Howard  laughed,  when  she  was  talking  about 
it.  Don't  go,  if  you  don't  wish  to.  They 
can  take  Tommy." 

"  Oh,  but  I  'd  like  to  go,"  Barth  interposed 
hurriedly,  as  he  looked  at  his  watch.  *'  It  is 
past  ten  now,  Mr.  Brock.  May  I  ask  you  to 
excuse  me  ?  "  And,  without  waiting  for  a  final 
word  from  Brock,  he  turned  and  went  dashing 
down  the  staircase  at  a  speed  which  boded 
little  good  for  an  invalid  ankle. 

Ten  o'clock,  that  sunny  morning,  found 
Champlain  Market  the  centre  of  an  eager, 
jostling,  basket-laden  throng.  As  a  rule,  the 
Lady  sought  her  purchases  at  the  market  just 
outside  the  Saint  John  Gate.  To-day,  how- 
ever, she  had  elected  to  go  to  the  Lower  Town, 
and,  true  to  an  old  engagement,  Nancy  had 
elected  to  go  with  her.  It  was  a  novel  experi- 
ence for  the  girl,  and  she  wandered  up  and 
down  at  the  heels  of  the  Lady,  now  staring  at 

^^3 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

the  stout  old  habitant  women  who,  since  early 
dawn,  had  sat  wedged  into  their  packed  carts, 
knitting  away  as  comfortably  as  if  they  had 
been  surrounded  by  sofa  pillows  rather  than 
by  pumpkins ;  at  the  round-faced,  bundled-up 
children  who  guarded  the  stalls  of  belated 
flowers,  of  blue-yarn  socks  and  of  baskets  of 
every  size  ;  at  the  groups  of  men,  gathered  here 
and  there  in  the  throng,  offering  to  their  possible 
customers  the  choice  between  squealing  pigs 
and  squawking  fowls  which  one  and  all  seemed 
to  be  resenting  the  liberties  taken  with  their 
breast-bones.  Back  of  the  old  stone  market 
building,  the  carts  were  drawn  up  in  long  lines  ; 
and  the  board  platforms  between  were  heaped 
with  cabbages  and  paved  with  crates.  At  the 
north,  the  little  gray  spire  of  Notre  Dame  des 
Victoires  guarded  the  square  where,  for  over 
two  hundred  years,  it  had  done  honor  to  the 
name  of  Our  Lady  and  to  the  memory  of  suc- 
cessive victories  won,  by  her  protecting  care, 
over  invading  foes.  Above  it  all,  the  black- 
faced  cannon  poked  its  sullen  nose  over  the 
wall  of  the  King's  Bastion  where,  a  scarlet 
patch  against  the  sky,  there  fluttered  the  three- 
fold cross  of  the  Union  Jack. 

And  still  Brock  failed  to  appear. 

"Just  like  a  man  !"  Nancy  said  impatiently, 

184 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

as  the  half-hour  struck.  "You  are  sure  Mary 
understood  the  message?  '* 

"  She  never  forgets.  I  was  sorry  not  to  wait, 
Nancy ;  but  we  should  have  lost  our  chance  to 
get  anything  good.     We  are  late,  as  it  is." 

"  Late  !  What  time  does  the  market 
open  r 

"  By  five  o'clock.  These  people  have  been 
coming  in,  all  night  long.  By  live  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  place  is  full  of  customers.  It  is  worth 
the  seeing  then." 

Nancy  shivered. 

"  Uh  !  Not  at  this  season  of  the  year.  I 
am  not  fond  of  the  clammy  dav/n  ;  and,  down 
here  by  the  river,  it  must  be  deathly.  But,  in 
the  meanwhile,  —  "  Again  she  glanced  towards 
the  corner  of  Little  Champlain  Street. 

The  Lady  laughed. 

"It  is  no  use,  Nancy.  You  are  caught  in 
your  own  trap,  and  now  you  must  either  go 
home  and  send  Tommy  to  me,  or  else  help 
me  to  carry  home  the  basket.'* 

"  I  don't  mind  the  basket,  though  I  confess 
I  wish  I  had  n't  urged  you  to  bring  your  very 
largest  one.  But  I  am  disappointed  in  Mr. 
Brock.  I  thought  he  possessed  more  inven- 
tion than  this.  He  made  me  believe  he  had 
some  mischief  lurking  in  his  brain  ;  and  it  is 

185 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

very  flat  and   boyish    merely    to    promise    to 
appear  and  then  not  to  materialize." 

"He  may  have  been  prevented,  at  the  last 
minute." 

"Then,"  Nancy  responded  grimly;  "he'd 
much  better  have  kept  to  the  letter  of  his 
promise  and  sent  a  substitute." 

She  was  still  wandering  aimlessly  to  and  fro 
among  the  crowd,  now  jostled  by  a  packed 
basket  on  the  arm  of  a  sturdy  habitant,  now 
whacked  on  the  ankle  by  a  hen  dangling 
limply,  head  downward,  from  the  hand  of  the 
habitant's  wife,  now  pausing  to  bargain  for  a 
bunch  of  pale  violet  sweet  peas  or  a  tiny 
repUca  of  one  of  the  melon-shaped  baskets  so 
characteristic  of  the  town.  All  at  once,  she 
turned  to  the  Lady. 

"  If  there  is  n't  Mr.  Barth  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
lapsing,  in  her  surprise,  into  the  unmistakable 
vernacular  of  The  States. 

The  Lady  was  deeply  absorbed  in  her  final 
purchase  of  the  day,  which,  as  it  chanced,  was 
a  piglet  for  the  morrow's  dinner.  Engrossed 
in  the  relative  merits  of  a  whole  series  of  pig- 
lets of  varying  dimension,  she  was  deaf  to 
Nancy's  words.  Left  to  herself,  the  girl  met 
Barth  with  an  eager  smile. 

"Is  it  peace,  or  war?"  she    asked  merrily, 

i86 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

as  she  gave    him    her  hand,  sweet   peas    and 
all. 

"  Peace,  of  course.  Are  the  flowers  a  token 
of  the  treaty  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  them  ? " 

"Oh,  rather!"  And  Barth  pulled  off  his 
glove  to  fasten  them  into  the  lapel  of  his  dark 
blue  coat.  "  I  am  so  sorry  to  be  late.  Miss 
Howard ;  but  Mr.  Brock  stopped  a  little,  to 
talk." 

"You  have  seen  Mr.  Brock,  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.      He  was  in  my  room." 

Nancy's  face  betrayed  her  surprise. 

"And  did  he  say  anything  about  market  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  you  were  coming  at  ten.  I 
meant  to  be  on  hand  ;  but  he  delayed  me,  and, 
when  I  finally  started,  I  missed  my  way  and 
came  out  over  by  the  custom  house.  I  must 
have  taken  a  wrong  turning." 

"  Perhaps.     But  where  is  Mr.  Brock  ^  " 

"  I  think  he  went  to  his  office." 

There  was  a  little  pause. 

"Jolly  crowd,  this,"  Barth  commented  at 
length.     "  Where  is  the  Lady  ?  " 

"  Over  there."  Nancy  pointed  to  the  Lady, 
still  bending  over  the  crate  of  piglets. 

"  Oh.  And  those  are  the  pigs  ?  Ought  n't 
we  to  go  across  and  help  her  ?  " 

187 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Nancy  laughed. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  'm  not  a  judge  of  them,"  she 
demurred. 

Earth's  voice  dropped  confidentially. 

"  Neither  am  I.  Still,  as  long  as  I  came  to 
help  her,  I  think  it  would  be  rather  decent  to 
see  if  I  can  do  anything  about  it,  now  I  am 
here." 

"  Oh,"  Nancy  said  blankly.  "  Was  the 
Lady  expecting  you  ?  " 

Earth's  gratified  smile  completed  her  mys- 
tification. 

"  Oh,  rather !  I  would  n't  have  felt  at 
liberty  without,  you  know.  That 's  what  the 
Lady  is  for." 

A  moment  later,  the  Lady  started  in  surprise. 
Stick  and  gloves  in  hand  and  a  frown  of  deep 
consideration  on  his  boyish  brow.  Earth  sud- 
denly knelt  down  at  her  side  and  shut  his  slim 
fingers  upon  the  flank  of  the  nearest  piglet, 
which  gave  vocal  expression  to  its  displeasure. 

"  Oh.  Good  morning,"  he  added,  not 
to  the  piglet,  however,  but  to  the  Lady.  "  I 
think  you  will  find  this  little  chap  quite 
satisfactory." 

For  an  instant,  Nancy  had  difficulty  in  re- 
pressing her  mirth.  Then,  from  the  Lady's 
manifest    astonishment   at    Earth's    appearing, 

188 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

from  Earth's  own  manner,  and  from  her  memory 
of  Brock's  final  words,  she  saw  the  hand  of  the 
young  Canadian  in  the  situation.  This  was 
the  substitute  whom  Brock  had  promised.  She 
determined  to  put  her  theory  to  the  test. 

"  Mr.  Brock  was  very  good  to  act  as  our 
messenger,"  she  suggested  craftily. 

"  Rather  !  He  is  a  good  fellow,  anyway," 
Barth  answered,  as  he  rose  and  dusted  off  his 
knees.  "  I  like  the  English  Canadians,  my- 
self They  are  a  grade  above  the  French  ones. 
But,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Brock  only  just  saved 
me  from  disgracing  myself  again.  I  was  so 
absorbed  in  —  in  the  other  things  we  talked 
over,  last  night,  that  I  quite  forgot  about  the 
trip  to  market,  this  morning." 

For  a  minute,  as  she  looked  into  Barth's 
animated  face,  Nancy  waxed  hot  with  indig- 
nation over  Brock's  childish  trick.  She  half 
resolved  to  warn  the  young  Englishman  against 
the  species  of  hazing  which  he  was  called  upon 
to  undergo.  Then  she  held  her  peace.  Her 
warnings  would  count  for  more,  if  she  levelled 
them  at  Brock,  rather  than  at  Brock's  victim. 
Even  her  limited  experience  of  Barth  had 
assured  her  that,  in  certain  directions,  his  un- 
derstanding was  finite.  It  would  never  occur 
to  his  insular  mind  that  his  very  naivete  would 

189 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

make  him  a  more  tempting  prey  to  the  jovial 
young  Canadian. 

"  Never  mind,  as  long  as  you  came  at  all, 
Mr.  Barth,"  she  replied  lightly.  "It  would 
have  been  a  pity  for  you  to  have  missed  the 
sight.  We  could  n't  very  well  wait  for  you, 
because  the  Lady  had  to  come  on  business, 
not  pleasure." 

"  And  is  this  all  ? "  Barth  said,  as  the 
Lady  turned  from  the  piglet.  "  Where  is 
the  basket?  " 

"There."  And  Nancy,  as  she  pointed  to 
the  heaped  assortment  of  garden  stuffs,  sud- 
denly resolved  to  put  Barth's  chivalry  to  the 
test. 

The  test  was  weighty,  unlovely  of  outline  and 
unsavory  of  odor ;  nevertheless,  the  young  Brit- 
isher did  not  shrink.  Without  a  glance  around 
him,  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  bent  over  the  great 
basket  and  passed  its  handles  over  the  curve 
of  his  elbow. 

"  Shall  we  go  home  by  the  steps  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Or  do  you  take  the  lift  ?  " 

Then  the  Lady  interfered. 

"  I  go  to  the  nearest  cab-stand,"  she  replied 
promptly.  "  I  find  I  must  dash  over  to  the 
other  market  as  fast  as  I  can  go.  There  are 
cabs  just  around  the  corner,  Mr.  Barth,  if  you 

190 


BY   THE    GOOD  SAINTE   ANNE 

are  willing  to  put  my  basket  into  one.  Then, 
if  you  and  Miss  Howard  will  excuse  me  for 
deserting  the  expedition,  I  will  leave  you  to 
walk  home  together." 

And  Nancy's  answering  smile   assured    the 
Lady  of  her  full  forgiveness. 


191 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

"  T    LOVE  all  things  British,  saving  and  ex- 
X   cepting  their  manners  and  their  mortar," 
Nancy  soliloquized. 

Nancy*s  temper  was  ruffled,  that  morning. 
As  she  had  left  the  table,  Barth  had  followed 
her  to  the  parlor  where,  apparently  apropos  of 
an  inoffensive  Frenchman  crossing  the  Place 
d'Armes,  he  had  been  drawn  into  strictures 
concerning  American  and  French  peculiarities 
of  speech  and  manner.  The  talk  had  been  im- 
personal ;  nevertheless,  Nancy  had  been  quick 
to  discern  that  its  text  lay  in  the  growing  friend- 
ship between  herself  and  St.  Jacques.  For  a 
time,  she  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  Brit- 
isher's accusing  monologue.  Then  her  tem- 
per had  given  way  completely.  Flapping  the 
American  flag  full  in  his  face,  she  had  loosed 
the  American  eagle  and  promptly  routed  Barth 
and  driven  him  from  the  field,  with  the  British 
Lion  trudging  dejectedly  at  his  heels. 

"  I  want  him  to  understand  that  he  's  not  to 
say  American  to  me,  in  any  such  tone  as  that !  " 

192 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy  muttered  vindictively,  as  she  pinned  on 
her  hat. 

Then  she  went  out  to  walk  herself  into  a 
good  temper. 

The  good  temper  was  still  conspicuous  by 
its  absence,  when,  regardless  of  appearances, 
she  dropped  down  in  the  grass  by  the  hospital 
gate,  and  fell  to  picking  the  scraps  of  mortar 
out  of  the  meshes  of  her  rough  cloth  gown. 

"  I  believe  I  am  all  kinds  of  an  idiot,"  she 
continued  to  herself  explosively.  "  First,  Joe's 
letter  rubbed  me  the  wrong  way.  I  don't  see 
how  he  could  be  so  stupid  as  to  imagine  I  'm 
homesick.  Of  course,  I  am  glad  he  is  coming 
up  here ;  but  an  extra  man,  in  any  relation, 
does  have  a  tendency  to  complicate  things. 
And  then  Mr.  Brock  did  n't  come  to  break- 
fast. I  know  he  was  cross,  last  night,  because 
I  took  Mr.  Earth's  part.  And  now  Mr.  Earth 
has  made  me  lose  my  temper  again.  I  believe 
he  does  it,  just  for  the  sake  of  seeing  me  abase 
myself  afterwards.  Dear  me  !  Everybody  is 
cross,  and  I  am  the  crossest  of  the  lot." 

Beside  her  on  the  grass,  the  shadow  of  the 
Union  Jack  above  the  hospital  moved  idly  to 
and  fro.  Behind  her  was  the  low,  squat  bulk 
of  the  third  Martello  Tower  whose  crumbling 
mortar  Nancy  was  even  now  removing  from 
13  193 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

her  clothing.  The  fourth  Martello  Tower, 
hidden  somewhere  within  the  dingy  confines  of 
Saint  Sauveur,  had  eluded  all  her  efforts  to  find 
it ;  the  other  two  had  been  too  obviously  con- 
verted to  twentieth-century  purposes.  This 
had  looked  more  inviting,  and  Nancy  had 
spent  a  chilly  hour  in  its  depths.  By  turning 
her  back  upon  the  dripping  icehouse  in  its 
southern  edge,  and  focussing  her  mind  upon 
the  mammoth  central  column  which  supported 
its  arching  roof,  she  had  been  able  to  force  her- 
self backward  into  the  days  when  a  Martello 
Tower  was  a  thing  for  an  invading  army  to 
reckon  with.  In  the  magazine  beneath,  the 
drip  from  the  icehouse  had  spoiled  the  illusion  ; 
but  the  open  platform  above,  albeit  now  snugly 
roofed  in,  still  offered  its  battlements  and  its 
trio  of  dismounted  cannon  to  her  cynical  gaze. 
Nancy  left  the  dim  interior,  bored,  but  sternly 
just.  In  some  moods  and  with  certain  com- 
panions, even  the  third  Martello  Tower  might 
be  interesting.  Meantime,  she  was  conscious 
of  a  distinct  wish  that  the  relics  of  the  crum- 
bling past  might  not  have  such  marked  afiinity 
for  her  shoulder-blades. 

"  Miss  Howard!  " 

She  looked  up.     Cap  in  hand,  St.  Jacques 
was  standing  before  her. 

194 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  I  am  glad  I  have  found  you/'  he  added 
directly.  "  I  was  wishing  that  something  good 
might  happen." 

Nancy's  smile  broadened  to  a  laugh. 

"  Are  you  cross,  too  ?  "  she  queried,  without 
troubling  herself  to  rise. 

"  Very,"  St.  Jacques  assented  briefly. 

"  I  am  so  glad.     Let 's  be  cross  together." 

"Here?" 

"Why  not?" 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  i  don't  like  the  place.  The  associations 
are  not  pleasant." 

"  I  don't  see  why.  It  looks  a  very  com- 
fortable place  to  be  ill." 

"  Yes ;  but  who  wants  to  think  of  being 
ill?" 

"  Nobody,"  Nancy  returned  philosophically. 
"  Still,  now  and  then  we  must,  you  know. 
Witness   Mr.   Barth." 

St.  Jacques  smiled. 

"  Yes.  But  even  Mr.  Barth  had  a  good 
nurse." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that.  Even  my  level 
best  is  none  too  even,"  Nancy  replied  enig- 
matically, with  scant  consideration  for  the  alien 
tongue  of  her  companion. 

He  ignored  her  words. 

195 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  If  I  should  be  ill,  would  you  take  care  of 
me  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

Still  laughing,  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Never.  I  like  you  altogether  too  well, 
M.  St.  Jacques,  to  risk  your  life  with  my  min- 
istrations. Instead  of  that,  though,  I  will  come 
out  here  to  see  you  as  often  as  you  will  grant 
me  admission." 

"  Not  here.  They  would  never  grant  me 
admission  in  the  first  place,"  St.  Jacques  re- 
sponded dryly. 

"Why,  then?" 

"  Because  I  am  Catholic." 

"  Oh,  how  paltry  !  "  Nancy  burst  out  in 
hot  indignation. 

"It  is  true,  however." 

With  a  sweep  of  her  arm,  Nancy  pointed  to 
the  Union  Jack  whose  scarlet  folds  stained  the 
sky  line. 

"  Then  the  sooner  they  pull  that  down,  the 
better,"  she  said  scornfully.  "  I  thought  that 
the  British  flag  stood  for  religious  freedom." 

"  But  you  are  not  Catholic,"  St.  Jacques  said 
slowly. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?     I  am 

not  a  Seven-Day  Baptist,  either.     Neither  fact 

makes    me    ignore   the   rights    of   my    friends 

who  are." 

196 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANXE 

St.  Jacques  still  stood  looking  down  at  her. 
His  face  was  unusually  grave,  that  morning; 
and  It  seemed  to  Nancy  that  his  swarthy 
cheeks  were  flushed  more  than  It  was  their 
wont  to  be. 

"  You  have  friends  who  are  Catholics  P  "  he 
asked. 

"  One,  I  hope,"  she  answered  quietly. 
Then  she  rose  to  her  feet.  "  What  are  you 
doing  out  here  at  this  hour?"  she  added. 

"  Walking,  to  tire  myself,"  he  answered. 
"  Will  you  come  ?  " 

For  her  only  answer,  she  dropped  into  step 
at  his  side,  and  they  turned  down  the  steep 
slope  leading  into  Saint  Sauveur,  crossed 
Saint  Roch  and  the  Dorchester  Bridge  and 
came  out  on  the  open  road  to  Beauport. 

Never  a  garrulous  companion,  St.  Jacques 
was  more  silent  than  ever,  that  morning,  and 
Nancy  let  him  have  his  way.  Moreover,  at 
times  she  was  conscious  of  something  restful 
in  the  long  pauses  which  came  In  her  talk  with 
St.  Jacques.  When  he  chose,  the  young 
Frenchman  spoke  easily  and  well.  Appar- 
ently, however,  he  saw  no  need  of  talking,  un- 
less he  had  something  to  say.  In  their  broken 
talk  and  their  long  silences,  Nancy  had  gained 
a  better  understanding  of  St.  Jacques,  a  more 

197 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

perfect  sympathy  with  his  point  of  view  and 
his  mood  than  she  had  gained  of  Brock  in  all 
their  hours  of  chattering  intercourse. 

For  a  long  mile,  they  walked  on  without 
speaking.  Shoulder  to  shoulder,  they  had 
gone  tramping  along  the  narrow  plank  walk 
with  the  sure  rhythm  of  perfectly  adapted  step. 

"  How  well  we  walk  together !  "  Nancy 
said,  suddenly  breaking  the  silence. 

"Yes,"  St.  Jacques  assented  briefly.  "I 
have  always  noticed  it." 

Some  men  would  have  used  her  random 
words  as  the  theme  for  a  sentimental  speech. 
To  St.  Jacques,  they  were  too  obvious  ;  emo- 
tion should  not  be  wasted  upon  anything  so 
matter  of  fact.  Long  since,  Nancy  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  that  phase  of  his  mind. 
It  gave  a  certain  restfulness  to  their  intercourse 
to  know  that  St.  Jacques  would  never  read 
unintended  meanings  into  her  simplest  utter- 
ances. At  first,  she  had  supposed  him  too 
stolid,  too  earnestly  intent  upon  his  own  ends 
to  waste  sentiment  upon  herself.  Lately,  she 
had  begun  to  doubt ;  and  she  confessed  to  her- 
self that  the  doubt  was  sweet. 

"You  said  you  were  cross,  to-day?"  St. 
Jacques  broke  the  silence,  this  time. 

"Yes,  detestably." 

198 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  For  any  especial  reason  ?  '* 

"  How  uncomplimentary  of  you  to  suggest 
that  I  am  ever  cross  without  reason  !  "  Nancy 
rebuked  him. 

"  What  is  the  reason  ?  "  he  asked  coolly. 

"  There  are  several  of  them,  all  tangled  up 
together." 

"  And,  as  usual,  Barth  is  one  of  them,"  St. 
Jacques  supplemented. 

"  Perhaps ;  and  Mr.  Brock  is  another," 
Nancy  replied  unexpectedly. 

"  Brock  ?     What  has  he  done  ?  " 

"Nothing.  I  did  it.  At  least,  I  tried  to 
lecture  him  for  playing  tricks  on  Mr.  Barth, 
and  —  " 

"  One  is  always  at  liberty  to  play  tricks  with 
a  monkey,"  St.  Jacques  interpolated  quietly. 

"  Mr.  Barth  is  n't  a  monkey,"  Nancy  retorted. 

"No?      Then  what  is  he?" 

"  The  best  little  Englishman  that  ever  lived," 
she  answered  promptly. 

The  lower  lip  of  St.  Jacques  rolled  out  into 
his  odd  little  smile. 

"  Then  the  game  surely  ought  to  be  in  the 
hands  of  the  French,"  he  responded. 

"You're  not  fair  to  Mr.  Barth,"  Nancy  said, 
as  she  stooped  to  pull  off  a  spray  of  scarlet 
maple  leaves  from  a  bush  at  her  feet. 

199 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"Perhaps  not.     Neither  are  you." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  He  has  n*t  a  more  loyal  friend 
in  America,  M.  St.  Jacques." 

"  I  know  that.  It  is  not  always  fair  to  be 
too  loyal." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  makes  one  wonder  whether  the 
game  is  worth  the  candle,"  the  Frenchman 
replied  imperturbably.  "  One  does  n't  fly  to 
defend  the  strongest  spot  on  the  city  wall." 

Nancy  looked  up  into  his  dark  face. 

"  No ;  and,  in  the  same  way,  I  Ve  not 
fought  a  battle  in  your  behalf  since  we  met." 

"  No  ?  " 

"At  least  — "  she  added  hurriedly,  as  she 
recalled  stray  sentences  of  her  talk  with  Barth, 
that  morning.  "  But  in  a  way  you  have  told 
the  truth.  I  have  fought  Mr.  Barth's  battles 
with  you  all,  until  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  were 
wholly  responsible  for  the  man." 

"Then  why  not  let  him  fight  his  own 
battles  ?  " 

A  torn  red  leaf  fluttered  from  Nancy's  fingers. 

"Because  he  won't.  It's  not  that  he  is  a 
coward  ;  it 's  not  that  he  is  conceited  or  too 
sure  of  himself  It  is  only  that  he  is  like  a 
great,  overgrown  child  who  never  stops  to  think 
of  the  impression  he  is  making.     Sometimes  it 

200 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

is  refreshing;  sometimes  it  makes  one  long  to 
box  him  up  and  send  him  back  to  be  tethered 
out  on  a  chain  attached  to  Westminster  Abbey. 
Even  that  would  n't  do,  though,  for  the  Poets* 
Corner  has  made  room  for  an  American  or  two. 
Mr.  Barth  is  queer  and  innocent  and,  just  now 
and  then,  superlatively  stupid.  And  yet,  M. 
St.  Jacques,  I  don't  believe  he  ever  had  an 
ignoble  idea  from  the  day  of  his  birth  up  to 
to-day.  He  is  absolutely  generous  and  high- 
minded,  and  one  can  forgive  a  good  deal  for 
the  sake  of  that." 

Flushed  with  her  eager  championship,  she 
paused  and  smiled  up  into  her  companion's 
eyes.  His  answering  smile  drove  the  gravity 
from  his  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  ;  "  and,  from  your  very 
persistence,  you  imply  that  there  is  a  good  deal 
to  forgive." 

"  Something,  perhaps,"  she  assented  in  her 
turn  ;  ^'  but  it  is  largely  negative.  Meanwhile, 
he  is  n't  fair  game  for  you  and  Mr.  Brock." 

"Why  not.?" 

"  Because  he  believes  everything  you  tell 
him ;  because  it  never  once  enters  his  mind 
that  you  would  find  it  worth  your  while  to  tor- 
ment him.  If  he  lets  you  alone,  he  expects 
you  to  do  the  same  by  him." 

20I 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

St.  Jacques  made  no  answer.  With  his  dark 
eyes  fixed  on  the  broad  river  at  his  right  hand, 
he  marched  steadily  along  by  Nancy's  side  until 
the  quaint  little  roadside  cross  of  temperance 
was  far  behind  them.     Then  he  said  abruptly, — 

"  Miss  Howard,  I  wish  I  knew  just  how 
well  you  like  that  fellow." 

Nancy's  thoughts,  like  her  steps,  had  lain 
parallel  to  his.  She  responded  now  without 
hesitation,  — 

"  I  wish  I  knew,  myself;  but  I  don't." 

For  an  instant,  St.  Jacques  removed  his  eyes 
from  the  river.  He  smiled,  as  he  moved  them 
back  again. 

Nancy's  next  words  showed  that  her  mind 
had  taken  a  backward  leap. 

"  You  said  you  were  walking  to  tire  your- 
self? "   she  said  interrogatively. 

"  Yes.  Am  I  also  tiring  you  ?  "  St.  Jacques 
answered,  with  instant  courtesy. 

"  No.  I  always  dislike  the  turning  around 
to  go  home  by  the  same  road." 

"  Then  we  can  walk  on  to  Beauport  church, 
and  take  the  tram  back,"  he  suggested. 

"  As  you  like,"  she  agreed.  "  But  why  tire 
yourself?  " 

The  thin,  firm  lips  shut  into  a  resolute  line. 
Then  St.  Jacques  replied  briefly, — 

202 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

"  I  have  been  lying  awake  too  much  for  my 
pleasure." 

"Thinking  of  your  sins  ? "  Nancy  asked 
gayly. 

"Yes,  and  of  some  other  things." 

"  Pleasant  things,  I  hope." 

The  Frenchman's  brows  contracted. 

"  I  have  had  dreams  that  were  pleasanter." 

Nancy  stole  a  sidelong  glance  at  him,  saw 
the  expression  in  his  eyes,  and,  turning,  looked 
him  full  in  the  face. 

"  M.  St.  Jacques,"  she  said  quietly  ;  "  some- 
thing is  wrong." 

He  smiled,  as  he  shook  his  head ;  but  his 
eyes  did  not  light. 

"  There  is  no  use  of  denying  it.  I  have 
been  a  nurse,  you  know,"  she  persisted  laugh- 
ingly;  ''and  I  have  learned  to  watch  for  symp- 
toms. Men  don't  frown  like  that  and  beetle 
their  brows,  without  some  cause  or  other.  Does 
something  worry  you  ;  or  are  n't  you  feeling 
well  ?  " 

Without  breaking  his  even  pace,  St.  Jacques 
turned  and  looked  steadily  into  her  earnest, 
sympathetic  face.  This  time,  his  dark  eyes 
lighted  in  response  to  the  friendly  look  in  her 
own. 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  a  little  of  both,"  he  an- 

203 


BY  THE   GOOD   SATNTE   ANNE 

swered  quietly.  "  Even  then,  there  is  no  reason 
one  should  be  a  worry  to  one's  friends." 

The  pause  which  followed  was  a  short  one. 
Then  St.  Jacques  roused  himself  and  laughed. 

"  Really,  Miss  Howard,"  he  added,  as  he 
brushed  his  thick  hair  backward  from  the 
scarlet  gash  in  his  forehead ;  "  it  is  only  that 
I  started  with  headache,  this  morning.  I  was 
too  dull  for  work ;  but  either  Nurse  Howard 
or  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  has  made  me  forget 
It. 

And  Nancy  smiled  back  at  him  in  token  of 
perfect  understanding.  She  had  not  heard  his 
last  inaudible  words,  — 

"  Or  perhaps  it  may  be  the  work  of  good 
Saint  Joseph." 

In  fact,  Nancy  Howard  as  yet  had  gained 
no  inkling  of  the  especial  attributes  of  Saint 
Joseph,  nor  did  she  suspect  the  part  that  the 
good  old  saint  was  beginning  to  play  in  the 
coming  events  of  her  life.  To  Nancy's  mind, 
May  was  always  May.  So  long  as  it  lasted, 
there  was  no  reason  for  looking  forward  into  the 
coming  month  of  June.  The  future  tense  was 
created  solely  for  those  whose  present  was  not 
absolutely  good. 


204 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN 

CONFRONTED  by  a  tea-tray  and  a  Brit- 
isher in  combination,  Nancy  Howard 
was  conscious  of  a  certain  abashment. 

At  home  in  New  York,  she  was  accustomed 
to  administer  informal  tea  by  means  of  a  silver 
ball  and  a  spirit  lamp.  These  two  diminutive 
pots,  the  one  of  water  and  the  other  of  tea,  left 
her  in  a  blissful  state  of  uncertainty  whether 
she  was  to  measure  them  out,  half  and  half,  or, 
emptying  the  teapot  at  the  first  round,  fill  it 
up  with  the  water  in  the  hopes  of  decocting  a 
feeble  second  cup.  Moreover,  Nancy  preferred 
lemon  in  her  tea,  and,  worst  of  all,  there  were 
no  sugar  tongs.  Nancy  wondered  vaguely 
whether  Englishwomen  were  wont  to  make 
tea  in  brand-new  gloves,  or  whether  English- 
men were  less  finical  than  their  transatlantic 
brethren. 

Barth,  his  glasses  on  his  nose,  w^atched  her 
intently.  His  very  intentness  increased  her 
abashment.  It  had  been  at  his  suggestion  that 
they  had  gone  to  the  little  tea  shop,  that  after- 
noon, and  Nancy  had  no  wish  to  bring  disgrace 

205 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

either  upon  Barth  or  herself,  in  the  presence 
of  those  of  Quebec's  fair  daughters  who,  at 
the  tables  around  them,  were  sipping  tea  and 
gossip  by  turns. 

Devoutly  praying  that  she  might  not  upset 
the  cream  jug,  nor  forget  to  call  the  sugarbowl 
a  basin,  Nancy  at  last  succeeded  in  filling 
Earth's  cup. 

"  How  scriptural ! "  he  observed,  as  he  took 
it  from  her  hand. 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  pale  ring  of  overflow  in 
the  saucer. 

"  It  runneth  over,"  he  quoted  gravely. 

Nancy  developed  a  literal  turn  of  mind. 
She  did  it  now  and  then  ;  it  was  always  un- 
expected, and  it  left  her  companion  of  the 
moment  in  the  conversational  lurch. 

"  That  means  happiness,  not  tea,"  she  said 
calmly. 

Barth  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  Then, 
with  unwonted  swiftness,  he  rallied. 

"  Sometimes  the  two  are  synonymous,"  he 
said  quietly. 

But  Nancy  turned  wayward. 

'"'  Not  when  they  are  watered  down.  But 
you  must  admit  that  Americans  give  good 
measure." 

206 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Barth  smiled  across  the  table  at  her,  in 
manifest  content. 

*'  Of  both,"  he  asserted,  as  he  stirred  his 
tea. 

"  Have  a  biscuit,"  Nancy  advised  him 
suddenly. 

"A  —  Would  you  like  me  to  order  some  ? 
I  dare  say  they  have  them  out  there." 

Nancy  rested  her  elbows  on  the  table  with 
a  protesting  bump. 

"  There  you  go  Britishing  me  again  !  "  she 
said  hotly.  "You  said  you  wouldn't  do  it. 
Even  if  I  am  an  American,  I  do  know  enough 
not  to  say  cracker.  That  was  one  of  the  few 
lessons  I  learned  at  my  mother's  knee.  But 
there  are  n't  any  cracker-biscuits  here.  I  was 
referring  to  these  others." 

Barth  glanced  anxiously  about  the  table. 
Aside  from  the  tray,  there  were  two  plates  upon 
the  table,  and  one  of  the  two  held  tiny  strips  of 
toasted  bread.  All  told,  there  were  exactly 
eight  of  the  strips,  each  amounting  to  a  mouth- 
ful and  a  half,  and  Nancy  had  just  been  out  at 
the  Cove  Fields,  playing  golf. 

Nancy  pointed  to  the  other  plate. 

"I  mean  those  —  biscuits,"  she  said  con- 
clusively and  with  emphasis. 

"  Those  ?     Oh,     But  those  are  n't  biscuits." 

207 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  What  do  you  call  them,  then?  Buns  ?  " 
Nancy  inquired,  with  scathing  curiosity. 

"  Buns?     Oh,  no.     Those  are  scones." 

This  time,  Nancy  fairly  bounced  in  her 
chair. 

"  They  are  nothing  in  this  world  but  com- 
mon, every-day  American  soda  biscuits,"  she 
said,  as  she  helped  herself  to  the  puffiest  and 
the  brownest.  "  You  are  in  America  now, 
Mr.  Barth,  and  there  is  no  sense  in  your  put- 
ting British  names  to  our  cooking.  Will  you 
have  a  biscuit  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  really,  you  know,  they  are 
scones,"  he  protested.  "  My  mother  nearly 
always  has  them." 

Nancy  cast  anxious  eyes  at  the  drop  of 
molten  butter  that  was  trickUng  along  the  base 
of  her  thumb. 

"  And  so  do  we,"  she  replied  firmly  ;  "  only 
we  eat  them  at  breakfast,  with  a  napkin.  I 
don't  mean  that  we  actually  eat  the  napkin," 
she  explained  hastily,  in  mercy  for  the  limita- 
tions of  her  companion's  understanding.  "  But, 
really,  these  are  very  buttery." 

Barth  sucked  his  forefinger  with  evident 
relish. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  "  he  assented.     "  That 's  what 

makes  them  so  good." 

208 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy  furtively  rescued  her  handkerchief 
from  lier  temporary  substitute  for  a  pocket. 
Then,  bending  forward,  she  arranged  four  of 
the  strips  of  toast  around  the  margin  of  her 
saucer. 

"  What 's  that  for  P  "  Barth  queried,  at  a  loss 
to  know  whether  the  act  was  another  Ameri- 
canism, or  merely  a  Nancyism  pure  and  simple. 

"  We  are  going  to  go  halves  on  our  rations," 
Nancy  answered  coolly.  "  I  am  just  as  hungry 
as  you  are,  and  I  don't  propose  to  have  you 
eating  more  than  your  share  of  things." 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  order  some 
more  scones  ?  "  he  asked  courteously. 

For  the  space  of  a  full  minute,  Nancy  be- 
stowed her  entire  attention  upon  her  teacup. 
Then  she  lifted  the  white  of  one  eye  to  Earth's 
questioning  face. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  "  she  responded  nonchalantly. 

At  the  tables  around  them,  Quebec's  fair 
daughters  paused  in  their  tea  and  their  gossip 
to  cast  a  questioning  glance  in  the  direction  of 
Earth's  mirth.  As  a  rule,  masculine  mirth  had 
scant  place  in  the  cosy  little  tea  shop.  In  sum- 
mer, it  was  visited  by  a  procession  of  Amer- 
ican tourists  who  imbibed  its  tea  in  much  the 
same  solemn  spirit  as  they  breathed  the  in- 
cense of  the  Easilica,  inhaled  the  crisp  breeze 
14  209 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

over  Cape  Diamond  and  tasted  the  vigorous 
brew  that  ripened  in  the  vaults  of  the  old  in- 
tendant's  palace.  When  the  tourists  had  be- 
taken themselves  southward  and  Quebec  once 
more  began  to  resume  its  customary  life,  the 
shop  became  a  purely  feminine  function.  It 
was  an  ideal  place  for  a  dish  of  gossip  in  the 
autumnal  twilight.  The  walls  hung  thick  with 
ancient  plates  and  mirrors,  venerable  teapots 
and  jugs  stood  in  serried  ranks  along  the  shelf 
about  the  top  of  the  room,  and  a  quaint  assort- 
ment of  rugs  nearly  covered  the  floor.  Here 
and  there  about  the  wide  room  were  scattered 
little  claw-footed  tables  whose  shiny  tops  were 
covered  with  squares  of  homespun  linen, 
brown  and  soft  as  a  bit  of  Indian  pongee. 
Not  even  the  blazing  electric  lights  could  give 
an  air  of  modernness  to  the  place,  and  Nancy, 
in  the  intervals  of  her  struggles  with  the  tray, 
looked  about  her  with   complete  content. 

Barth  possessed  certain  of  the  attributes  of 
a  successful  general.  Wide  experience  had 
taught  him  to  administer  fees  freely  and,  as  a 
rule,  with  exceeding  discretion.  As  a  result, 
he  and  Nancy  were  in  possession  of  the  most 
desirable  table  in  the  room,  close  beside  the 
deep  casement  overlooking  Saint  Louis  Street. 
Nancy,  the  light  falling  full  on  her  eager  face, 

2IO 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

over  her  radiant  hair  and  on  her  dark  cloth 
gown,  could  watch  at  her  will  the  loitering 
passers  in  the  street  beneath,  or  the  idle  groups 
at  the  tables  around  her.  Barth,  his  own  face 
in  shadow,  could  see  but  one  thing.  That  one 
thing,  however,  was  quite  enough,  for  it  was 
Nancy. 

More  than  a  week  had  passed  since  the 
morning  in  the  market.  To  Mr.  Cecil  Barth, 
the  week  had  seemed  like  a  year,  and  yet 
shorter  than  many  a  single  day  of  his  past  ex- 
perience. Their  walk  homeward  from  the 
market  had  been  by  way  of  Saint  Roch  and 
the  old  French  fortifications,  and  their  con- 
versation had  been  as  devious  as  their  path. 
Nevertheless,  Barth,  as  he  sat  in  his  room  ap- 
plying liniment  and  red  flannel  to  his  aching 
ankle,  felt  that  they  had  been  moving  straight 
towards  a  perfect  understanding  and  good-fel- 
lowship. He  had  left  Nancy,  the  night  be- 
fore, convinced  of  her  generosity,  but  equally 
convinced  that  the  worst  hour  of  his  life  had 
been  the  hour  when  he  took  the  train  for 
Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre.  Now,  as  he  medi- 
tatively contemplated  the  pool  of  liniment  on 
the  carpet  at  his  feet,  he  acknowledged  to  him- 
self that  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  had  wrought  a 
mighty  series  of  miracles  in  his  behalf,  and  he 

211 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

offered  up  a  prayer,  as  devout  as  it  was  incohe- 
rent, that  she  might  not  remove  her  favor  until 
she  had  wrought  the  mightiest  miracle  of  all. 
Then,  his  prayer  ended  and  his  ankle  anointed, 
he  fell  to  whistling  contentedly  to  himself  as 
he  tied  up  his  shoe  and  brushed  his  yellow 
hair  in  preparation  for  dinner. 

As  far  as  possible,  for  the  next  week,  he 
had  been  a  fixture  at  Nancy's  side.  As  yet, 
much  walking  was  out  of  the  question  for 
him  ;  but,  within  the  narrow  limits  of  the  city 
wall,  or  under  the  roof  of  The  Maple  Leaf, 
neither  Brock  nor  St.  Jacques  were  able  to 
sever  him  from  his  self-imposed  connection 
with  Nancy's  apron  string.  He  took  small 
part  in  the  conversation  ;  with  Brock,  at  least, 
he  manifested  a  complete  indifference  to  the 
course  of  events.  It  was  merely  that  he  was 
there,  and  that  there  he  meant  to  stay,  filling 
in  the  hiatuses  of  Nancy's  time,  answering  her 
lightest  appeals  for  attention  and  now  and 
then  adding  a  pithy  word  of  support  to  even 
her  most  wayward  opinions.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  that  an  invading  British  force  had 
encamped  about  a  fortress  at  Quebec.  Wolfe 
at  the  head  of  his  army  showed  no  more  gritty 
determination  to  win  than  did  that  quiet, 
simple-minded  Britisher,  Mr.   Cecil  Barth. 

212 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

And,  as  the  October  days  crept  by,  Nancy 
Howard  grew  increasingly  nervous,  St.  Jacques 
increasingly  annoyed,  and  Reginald  Brock  in- 
creasingly amused  at  the  whole  situation. 

That  morning,  Barth  had  sat  for  a  long 
hour,  staring  thoughtfully  at  the  yellow- 
striped  paper  of  his  room,  while  he  pondered 
the  entire  case.  One  by  one,  he  passed  over 
the  events  of  the  past  six  weeks  in  detailed  re- 
view. He  recalled  those  first  days  in  Quebec, 
when  his  one  idea  had  been  to  avoid  the  un- 
sought society  of  the  whole  cordial  American 
tribe.  He  bethought  himself  contentedly  of 
his  first  aversion  for  Adolphe  St.  Jacques, 
which  had  been  coordinate,  in  point  of  time, 
with  his  introduction  to  the  dining-room  of 
The  Maple  Leaf  He  remembered  the  sun- 
shiny morning  which,  following  on  the  heels 
of  a  week  of  drizzle,  had  lured  him  forth  to 
Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre  and  to  his  ultimate 
destruction. 

Up  to  that  time,  his  memories  were  orderly 
and  logical.  From  that  point  onward,  they 
fell  into  chaos.  Days  of  grinding  pain  and 
intense  dreariness  were  lightened  by  the  sound 
of  Nancy^s  low  voice  and  the  touch  of  Nancy's 
firm,  supple  fingers  upon  his  injured  foot. 
True,  she  had  been  an  American ;  but,  even  at 

213 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

that  early  stage  of  his  experience,  it  had  begun 
to  dawn  upon  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  that,  under 
proper  conditions  and  in  their  proper  places, 
Americans  might  have  certain  pleasing  attri- 
butes. Then  Nancy  had  left  him.  In  the 
lonely  days  which  followed,  Barth  had  acknowl- 
edged to  himself  that,  for  Americans  of  a 
proper  type,  the  proper  conditions  and  the 
proper  places  bore  direct  connection  with  his 
own  individual  bottle  of  liniment.  The  ac- 
knowledgment was  reached  in  the  midst  of 
his  own  efforts  to  establish  relations  with  his 
own  ankle  which,  all  at  once,  seemed  to  him 
peculiarly  remote  and  elusive.  And  then  ? 
Then  he  had  returned  to  The  Maple  Leaf, 
and  had  found  Nancy  there,  and  she  was  the 
same  Nancy,  and  there  was  a  very  jolly  little 
tea  shop  in  Saint  Louis  Street.  At  that  point 
in  his  musings,  Mr.  Cecil  Barth  had  seized  his 
cap  and  rushed  down  the  stairs  of  his  ducal 
home. 

Only  once,  as  he  was  crossing  through  the 
Ring,  did  it  occur  to  his  mind,  as  a  possible 
factor  in  the  case,  that,  though  a  younger  son, 
his  departure  for  America  had  been  attended 
by  the  wailing  of  a  large  chorus  of  mothers. 
Even  then,  he  dismissed  the  thought  as  un- 
worthy   of  Nancy    and    of  himself.      Details 

214 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

of  that  kind  entered  into  the  present  situation 
not  at    all. 

Fate  was  all  in  his  favor,  that  morning.  He 
found  Nancy  quite  alone,  and,  as  a  result  of 
his  finding  her,  Nancy  had  been  confronted 
by  the  tea-tray  and  the  Britisher  in  com- 
bination. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  are  laughing  at,"  she 
said  plaintively,  in  answer  to  Earth's  merri- 
ment. "  I  am  only  trying  to  make  my  mean- 
ing unmistakable  to  you." 

Barth  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  in  time  you  would  make  a  fairly  good 
Englishwoman,"  he  said  reassuringly. 

Only  Nancy's  super-acute  ear  could  have 
discovered  the  note  of  condescension  in  his 
voice.  She  set  down  her  teacup  with  a 
thump. 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  I  have  no  aspirations  in 
that  direction,"  she  responded  shortly. 

"  How  strange ! "  Barth  observed,  as  he 
took  another  scone,  opened  it  and  peered  in  to 
see  which  was  the  more  buttery  side. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  strange  at  all,"  Nancy 
argued.     "  Who  wants  to  be  English  ?  " 

Barth  shut  up  the  scone  like  a  box,  and  laid 
it  down  on  the  edge  of  his  saucer. 

«  I  do." 

215 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Well,  you  are.  You  ought  to  be  satis- 
fied." 

In  hot  haste,  Barth  felt  about  for  his  glasses  ; 
but  they  were  tangled  in  his  buttons,  and  he 
missed  them. 

"  Oh,  rather  !  "  he  assented  hurriedly.  "  Do 
have  another  scone.'* 

Notwithstanding  her  indignation,  Nancy 
laughed.  Earth's  accent  was  so  like  that  of  an 
elderly  uncle  bribing  a  naughty  child  to  good- 
ness by  means  of  a  stick  of  candy. 

"  Thank  you,  I  always  like  hot  biscuits," 
she  assented.  Then,  for  the  second  time,  she 
put  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  sat  resting  her 
chin  upon  her  clasped  hands.  "  Mr.  Barth," 
she  said  meditatively  ;  "  has  it  ever  occurred  to 
you  that  I  may  possibly  be  proud  of  having 
been  born  an  American  ?  " 

Barth  peered  up  at  her  in  near-sighted 
curiosity. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered. 

Nancy's  eyes  were  fixed  thoughtfully  upon 
him,  taking  in  every  detail  of  his  earnest  face, 
honest  and  boyish,  and  likable  withal. 

"  Well,"  she  reiterated  slowly;  "  I  am." 

"  And  you  would  n't  rather  be  English,  if 
you  could  ?  "  Barth  queried,  with  an  eagerness 
for  which  she  was  at  a  loss  to  account. 

216 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"No.     Why  should  I?" 

He  sat  looking  steadily  at  her,  while  the 
scarlet  color  mounted  across  his  cheeks  and 
brow.  Then  even  Nancy's  ears  could  not  fail 
to  distinguish  the  minor  cadence  in  his  voice, 
as  he  said,  in  slow  regret,  — 

"I  —  1  am  sorry.     I  really  can't  see  why." 


217 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 

"  \  ND  still,"  Dr.  Howard  added  cheerily; 
JlV     "  I  would  n't  give  up  hope  yet." 

Adolphe  St.  Jacques  turned  from  a  listless 
contemplation  of  the  habitant  in  the  courtyard, 
and  looked  the  doctor  full  in  the  face. 

"You  think  —  ?"  he  said  interrogatively. 

The  doctor's  nod  was  plainly  reluctant. 

"Yes;  but  I  do  not  know.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  tell.  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would 
hold  on  as  long  as  I  could,  on  the  chance. 
Meanwhile,  take  things  as  easily  as  you  can, 
and  don't  worry." 

"  It  is  sometimes  harder  to  take  things 
easily  than  to  —  " 

St.  Jacques  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at 
the  door,  followed  by  a  call  from  Nancy. 

"  May  I  come  in,  daddy  ? " 

Hastily  the  young  Frenchman  turned  to 
the  doctor. 

"  And  you  won't  speak  to  her  about  it  yet  ?  " 

he  urged. 

218 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXXE 

"  No.  I  promise  you  to  wait  until  you  give 
me  permission." 

"Thank  you,"  St.  Jacques  answered.  "It 
is  better  to  keep  silent  for  the  present.  Still, 
it  is  a  relief  to  have  told  you,  and  to  know 
your  opinion." 

"  Oh,  daddy,  I  'm  coming.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you,"  Nancy  reiterated. 

Noiselessly  the  doctor  slid  back  the  bolt  on 
the  panelled  door,  just  as  Nancy  turned  the 
knob.  It  was  done  so  deftly  that  the  girl 
pushed  open  the  door  and  entered  the  room, 
without  in  the  least  suspecting  that  she  had 
walked  in  upon  a  secret  conference. 

"You  here?"  she  said,  nodding  gayly  to 
St.  Jacques. 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  am  just  going  away." 

"  Don't  hurry.  I  only  came  to  ask  my 
father  a  question  or  two.  How  much  longer 
are  we  going  to  stay  here,  daddy  ?  " 

The  doctor  pressed  together,  tip  to  tip,  the 
fingers  of  his  two  hands. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Nancy,"  he  answered  a  little 
deprecatingly  ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  take 
me  fully  three  weeks  longer  to  finish  my 
work." 

Her  face  fell. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

219 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  in  a  hurry  to  get 
home," 

"  I  was ;  but  I  'm  not,"  she  answered,  in 
terse  contradiction. 

St.  Jacques  laughed,  as  he  bowed  in  ex- 
aggerated gratitude. 

"  Canada  thanks  you  for  the  compliment, 
Miss  Howard." 

"  It 's  not  so  much  Canada  as  Quebec,  not  so 
much  Quebec  as  it  is  The  Maple  Leaf,"  she 
replied.  "  It  is  going  to  be  a  great  wrench, 
when  I  tear  myself  out  of  this  place.  But  it 
will  be  three  weeks  at  least,  daddy  ?  " 

"  Fully  that." 

Nancy  twisted  the  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  I  Ve  heard  again  from  Joe,  and  he  wants 
to  come,  the  last  of  the  week,"  she  said  slowly. 

St.  Jacques  caught  the  note  of  discontent  in 
her  voice  and  smiled.  It  escaped  the  doctor, 
however,  and  he  made  haste  to  answer, — 

"  But  we  are  always  glad  to  see  Joe.  How 
long  will  he  stay  ?  " 

"  Two  or  three  days.  He  has  never  been 
here,  and  he  expects  me  to  show  him  the  sights 
of  Quebec.  Imagine  me,  M.  St.  Jacques, 
doing  the  tourist  patter,  as  I  take  him  the 
grand  round  !  "  Then  she  turned  back  to  her 
father.     "Joe  obviously  has  something  on  his 

220 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

mind,  daddy.  You  don't  suppose  it  is  a  case 
of  Persis  Routh." 

The  doctor  laughed. 

"  Jealous,  Nancy  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Joe  is  my  especial 
property,  you  know.  Besides,  I  don't  like 
Persis." 

The  doctor  laughed  again. 

"  Neither  do  I.  Still,  she  is  wonderfully 
pretty." 

"Yes,"  Nancy  added  disconsolately;  "and 
she  does  n't  have  red  hair  and  a  consequent 
pain  in  her  temper.     Daddy?  " 

"  Yes."  With  his  back  to  the  two  young 
people,  the  doctor  was  cramming  some  papers 
into  his  limp  portfolio. 

"  Were  you  going  to  walk  with  me,  this 
afternoon  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear;  I  wasn't." 

"  But  you  promised." 

"When?" 

"  At  dinner,  yesterday.  You  promised  that, 
if  I  would  let  you  off  then,  you  would  go  with 
me,  to-day." 

"  Did  I  ?  I  am  sorry.  Really,  Nancy,  I 
can't  go." 

"  But  it  is  a  perfect  day." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it ;  but  I  have  an  appoint- 


221 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

ment  with  the  ghost  of  Monseigneur  Laval. 
Both  his  time  and  mine  are  precious." 

''  But  I  want  to  go,"  Nancy  said,  with  a 
suspicion  of  a  pout. 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Out  to  Sillery." 

The  doctor  looked  at  her  in  benign  re- 
buke. 

"  Nancy,  it  is  eight  miles  to  Sillery  and  back, 
and  your  father  is  short  of  wind.  Even  if 
Monseigneur  Laval's  ghost  were  not  calling 
me,  I  could  n't  be  tempted  to  take  any  such 
tramp  as  that." 

Just  then,  though  apparently  by  chance, 
St.  Jacques  stepped  forward.  The  doctor's 
eyes  lighted,  as  they  fell  upon  this  possible 
substitute. 

"You'd  better  ask  M.  St.  Jacques  to  go, 
Nancy.  I  was  just  advising  him  to  be  out  in 
the  open  air  as  much  as  possible." 

Nancy's  spine  stiffened  slightly,  but  quite 
perceptibly.  Much  as  she  liked  St.  Jacques 
and  enjoyed  his  society,  it  was  no  part  of  her 
plan  to  accept  his  escort,  when  it  was  offered 
by  a  third  person. 

"  M.  St.  Jacques  has  lectures  and  things  to 
go  to,  daddy,"  she  said,  with  an  accent  of  calm 
rebuke. 

222 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

St.  Jacques  started  to  speak ;  but  the  doctor 
forestalled  him. 

"  Then  he  'd  better  cut  the  lectures.  There 
may  be  such  a  thing  as  working  too  hard." 

Nancy  felt  a  swift  longing  to  administer  per- 
sonal chastisement  to  her  father.  She  wondered 
if  good  men  were,  of  their  very  goodness, 
bound  to  be  unduly  guileless.  She  bit  her 
lip.     Then  she  smiled  sweetly  at  St.  Jacques. 

"  But  M.  St.  Jacques  may  have  other  plans 
for  the  afternoon." 

This  time,  the  Frenchman  took  the  matter 
into  his  own  hands. 

"As  soon  as  it  becomes  my  turn  to  speak  —  " 
he  interpolated. 

"  Well  ?  "  Nancy  inquired  obdurately. 

"  I  should  like  to  say  that  I  have  nothing 
to  do,  this  afternoon  ;  that  I  was  wishing  for  a 
walk,  and  that  no  other  comrade  would  be  half 
so  enjoyable  as  Miss  Nancy  Howard." 

"  Oh,"  Nancy  responded.     "  Is  that  all.^  " 

"  It  is  enough.     Will  you  go  ?  " 

She  hesitated. 

"  If  my  father  has  n't  decoyed  you  into  the 
trap,  quite  against  your  will." 

St.  Jacques  raised  his  brows. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  say  things  for 
the  mere  sake  of  being  polite  ^  " 

223 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  No,"  Nancy  said  honestly  ;  "  I  never  did." 
"  Then  where  is  your  hat  ?  " 
Nancy  laughed.  Then  she  departed  to 
wrestle  with  her  hat  pins,  while  the  good 
doctor  rubbed  his  hands  with  pleasure  over 
the  successful  tact  with  which  he  had  won  his 
uninterrupted  afternoon. 

A    round    hour    later,    they    stood    on    the 
church  steps,  looking  down  upon  Sillery  Cove. 
One  starHt  night,  long  years  before,  a  young 
general,  indomitable  in  the  presence  of  mortal 
disease  as  in  the  face  of  an  impregnable  foe, 
had  dropped  down  the  river  to  land   at   that 
spot  and,  scaling  the  cliff,  to  fight  his  way  to 
his  victorious  death.     Now  the  dropping  tide 
had  left  a  broad  beach,  and  the  Cove  lay  in 
heavy  shadow ;  but,  beyond,  the  open  stream 
flashed  blue  in  the  sunlight.     Full  to  the  north- 
ward, the  windows  in  the  rifle  factory  caught 
the  light  and  tossed  it  back  to  them,  dazzling 
as  the  glory  which  Wolfe,  landing  in  the  Cove, 
was  fated  to  find  awaiting  him  upon  those  self- 
same Plains.     Still    farther  beyond,  the    rock 
city  lay,  a  gray  mound  against  the  vivid  blue 
of  the  distant  hills,  and  above  its  crest,  even 
from  afar,  Nancy  could  distinguish  the  blood- 
red  dot  which  flutters  each  day  from  dawn  to 
dusk  above  the  cannon  on  the  King's  Bastion. 

224 


BY   THE    GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Do  you  care  to  see  the  inside  of  the 
church  ?  "   St.  Jacques  asked  her. 

"  Of  course.  I  may  never  come  here  again, 
and  I  am  growing  to  love  your  churches," 
Nancy  answered,  suddenly  calling  herself  back 
from  a  dream  of  the  day  when  the  golden  lilies 
floated  above  the  Citadel,  and  of  the  night  when 
the  fleet  of  English  boats  crept  noiselessly 
up  the  river  to  face  —  and  win  —  a  forlorn 
hope  of  victory.  Then  abruptly  she  faced  St. 
Jacques.  "  Bigot  or  no  Bigot,  right  or  wrong, 
my  sympathies  are  sometimes  with  the  French," 
she  said.  "  Wolfe  was  a  hero;  but  I  can't  help 
siding  with  the  under  dog,  even  if  he  is  coated 
with  gold  and  fat  w4th  bones." 

St.  Jacques  smiled  at  her  outburst. 

"  And  the  under  dog  is  always  grateful," 
he  replied  briefly.     "  Come  !  " 

Cap  in  hand,  he  led  the  way  into  the  empty 
church,  made  his  swift  genuflection  before  the 
altar,  and  turned  to  look  at  Nancy.  The  girl 
stood  a  step  or  two  in  the  rear,  glancing  about 
her  at  the  arching  roof  and  at  the  decorations 
of  the  chancel.     St.  Jacques  hesitated. 

"  If  Mademoiselle  will  excuse  me,"  he  said 

then,  for  the  first    time  in  their  acquaintance 

speaking  in  his  native  tongue.     And,  without 

waiting  for  Nancy  to  reply,  he  went  swiftly  for- 

15  22c 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

ward,  bowed  for  a  moment  at  the  altar  rail,  then 
turned  and  knelt  before  the  first  of  the  painted 
Stations  of  the  Cross. 

It  was  done  with  the  simple  unconscious- 
ness of  a  child  to  whom  his  religion  was  a 
matter  of  every-day  experience.  Nevertheless, 
as  Nancy  stepped  noiselessly  into  a  pew  and 
rested  her  cheek  on  her  clasped  fingers,  she 
knew  by  instinct  that  her  companion  was  in 
no  normal  mood.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that 
Nancy  had  watched  the  sturdy  little  French- 
man during  the  past  month.  Watching  him 
now,  she  could  see  the  pallor  underneath  his 
swarthiness,  see  the  sudden  weakening  of  his 
resolute  chin,  and  the  pitiful  curve  of  the  thin 
lips.  Then,  all  at  once,  St.  Jacques  covered 
his  face  with  his  slim,  dark  hands,  and  Nancy 
could  see  nothing  more.  Involuntarily  she 
wondered  whether  she  might  not  already  have 
seen  too  much. 

St.  Jacques  was  smiling,  when  he  joined  her 
at  the  door ;  but  they  both  were  rather  silent, 
as  they  went  down  the  interminable  flight  of 
steps  which  leads  to  Champlain  Street,  and 
came  out  on  the  broad  beach  of  sand  that  bor- 
ders the  Cove  when  the  tide  is  low.  Even 
during  their  brief  delay  in  the  church,  the 
short  afternoon    had  waned    perceptibly,   and 

226 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAIXTE   AXXE 

the  sun  had  dropped  beneath  the  crest  of  the 
point.  Behind  their  backs,  the  bluff  rose  in  a 
wall  of  deep  purple  rock,  at  their  right  it  was 
splashed  with  an  occasional  dot  of  color  where 
some  sheltered  maple  still  held  its  crown  of 
ruddy  leaves.  The  river  beside  them  flowed 
on  noiselessly,  swiftly,  relentlessly  as  time  it- 
self, in  a  level  sheet  of  steely  gray.  But,  be- 
yond the  gray,  relentless  flowing,  there  rose  the 
stately  cliffs  of  Levis,  solid,  permanent  and 
bathed  in  a  glow  of  mingled  purple  and  gold. 

As  they  rounded  the  Cove  with  its  rotting, 
moss-grown  piers,  and  reached  the  point 
whence  Champlain  Street  runs  in  a  straight- 
cut  line  at  the  base  of  the  cliff,  St.  Jacques 
came  out  of  his  silence,  and  began  to  talk  once 
more.  At  first,  Nancy  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. In  all  their  acquaintance,  she  had  seen 
him  in  no  such  mood  of  rattling  gayety.  The 
words  flew  from  his  tongue,  now  English,  now 
French,  framing  themselves  into  every  con- 
ceivable sort  of  quip  and  whim  and  jest.  He 
laughed  at  Nancy  for  her  lusty  Americanism, 
predicted  her  conversion  to  Canadian  life  and 
ways,  made  sport  of  his  own  experiences  when 
he  had  come,  a  stranger,  to  Laval  and  Quebec. 
He  laughed  about  Barth  and  eulogized  him 
by  turns,   paused   to  give    a   word    of  hearty 

227 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

admiration  to  Brock,  and  then  rushed  on  into 
a  merry  account  of  his  boyhood  among  the 
little  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  quiet  French 
home  at  Rimouski.  Then,  as  they  mounted 
the  little  rise  beneath  Cape  Diamond,  his  mer- 
riment fell  from  him  like  the  falling  of  a  mask. 

"  Miss  Howard,"  he  said  suddenly  ;  "  do 
you  remember  the  sword  of  Damocles  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  at  a  loss  for  the  key  to 
this  new  mood.     "  What  of  it  ?  " 

He  pointed  up  to  the  cliff. 

"  That.  They  were  all  at  supper,  resting 
and  happy  after  the  day,  playing  with  their 
little  children,  perhaps,  when  the  rock  fell 
upon  them.  There  was  no  warning,  and  there 
were  tons  and  tons  of  the  rock.  Seventy- 
eight  were  found,  and  their  coffins  were  placed 
together  in  one  huge  pile  before  the  altar  rails. 
Nobody  knows  how  many  more  are  buried 
under  this  little  hill  in  the  road.  It  was  im- 
possible to  move  away  the  stone ;  they  could 
only  level  it  as  best  they  could,  and  build 
above  it  a  road  for  the  living  to  walk  on." 

Nancy  shivered.  All  at  once  she  became 
aware  of  the  chill  that  swept  in  from  the  river, 
of  the  growing  dusk  which  the  scattered  elec- 
tric lights  were  powerless  to  break.  Above 
her,  the  cliff  towered   in   sinister,  threatening 

228 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

dignity;  and  the  houses  below  leaned  to  its 
face  impotently,  as  if  their  weakness  appealed 
to  its  strength  for  mercy  and  support. 

St.  Jacques  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  It  is  no  easy  thing  to  live  on  steadily 
under  an  overhanging  fate,"  he  said,  half  to 
himself. 

But  Nancy  heard  and  wondered. 

Then,  from  the  heart  of  the  dusk  far  up  the 
river,  there  came  a  distant  throbbing.  It  grew 
nearer,  more  distinct,  until  they  could  make 
out  the  dim  outline  of  a  mighty  ocean-going 
steamer.  In  steady  majesty  it  swept  down 
upon  them,  glowing  with  lights  from  stem  to 
stern,  passed  them  by  and,  only  a  few  hundred 
feet  beyond  them,  paused  to  drift  idly  on  the 
current,  as  it  sent  out  its  shrill  call  for  a 
pilot. 

The  sudden  whistle  roused  St.  Jacques  from 
his  absorption.  He  shook  himself  free  from 
his  mood,  and  faced  Nancy  again  with  a 
laughing  face. 

"  Come,"  he  said.  "  Supper  is  calling,  and 
we  must  hurry." 

Merrily  they  picked  their  way  along  the 
darkening  tunnel  of  Little  Champlain  Street, 
merrily  they  slid  upward  in  the  dismal  wooden 
recesses  of  the  elevator,  merrily  they  tramped 

229 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

along  Sainte  Anne  Street  and  halted  at  the  door 
of  The  Maple  Leaf. 

On  the  threshold,  Nancy  faced  St.  Jacques 
with  merry  eyes. 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  my  glorious  walk," 
she  said  eagerly.  "  Confess  that  it  has  been  a 
most  jovial  occasion." 

But  all  the  merriment  had  fled  from  the 
dark  eyes  of  St.  Jacques. 

"  Perhaps/'  he  assented  gravely.  "  But  a 
true  Frenchman  often  smiles  most  gayly  when 
he  has  been  hardest  hit."  And,  cap  in  hand, 
he  stood  aside  to  let  Nancy  pass  in  before  him. 


230 


CHAPTER   NINETEEN 

INTERNATIONAL  complications  had 
arisen  at  the  supper  table.  Confronted  by 
an  English  menu,  the  four  elderly  French- 
men had  held  a  hasty  consultation  over  a 
new  item  which  had  appeared  thereon.  Their 
minds  were  strictly  logical ;  they  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  sweetbreads  were  a 
species  of  cake,  and  they  had  ordered  ac- 
cordingly. 

"  Mais  oui^'  one  of  them  observed,  as  he 
gravely  prodded  the  resultant  tidbit  with  his 
knife  and  fork.     "  Vat  ees  eet  ?  " 

"Them's  the  sweetbreads,"  responded  the 
waitress,  who  was  an  Hibernian  and  scanty  of 
grammar. 

There  followed  an  anxious  pause,  while  four 
prodding  forks  worked  in  unison. 

^^  Huitres?  "  suggested  one  Frenchman. 

"  Cotelettes  ?  "  added  the  second. 

"  Cest  bon^'  said  the  third,  more  daring  than 
his  companions. 

231 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

But  the  fourth  pushed  aside  his  plate. 

"  Cest  dommage  I  "  he  exclaimed,  and  Nancy, 
who  shared  his  opinion,  took  refuge  in  her 
napkin. 

She  emerged  to  find  Brock  just  taking  his 
place  beside  her,  and  she  looked  up  with  a  wel- 
coming smile.  After  the  too  obvious  devotion 
of  the  Englishman,  after  the  self-repressed, 
high-strung  temperament  of  St.  Jacques,  Nancy 
was  always  conscious  of  a  certain  sense  of  relief 
in  the  society  of  the  jovial  Canadian.  It  is  no 
slight  gift  to  be  always  merry,  always  thought- 
ful of  the  comfort  of  one's  companions,  always 
at  peace  with  one's  self  and  with  the  world. 
This  gift  Brock  possessed  in  its  entirety. 
Without  him  at  her  elbow,  Nancy  would  have 
passed  many  a  lonely  hour  in  Quebec.  An 
own  brother  could  not  have  been  more  un- 
demonstratively  careful  to  heed  her  slightest 
wish.  Best  of  all.  Brock  had  a  trick  of  placing 
himself  at  her  service,  not  at  all  as  if  he  were 
in  love  with  her;  but  merely  as  if  it  were  the 
one  thing  possible  for  him  to  do. 

Just  once,  their  friendship  had  lacked  little 
of  coming  to  grief.  On  the  evening  after  the 
market  episode,  Nancy  had  gathered  together 
her  courage  and  had  read  Brock  a  long  lecture 
upon  his  sins.     An  hour  later,  she  had  retired 

232 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

from  the  contest,  worsted.    With  imperturbable 
good  nature,  Brock  had  assented  to  her  charges 
against  him.     Then,  swiftly  turning  the  tables, 
he  had  summed  up  all  of  Earth's  vulnerable 
points  and  had  accused  her  of  increasing  their 
number  by  an  injudicious  system  of  coddling. 
Nancy's  hair  was  red,  her  temper  by  no  means 
imperturbable.     She  had  defended  herself  with 
vigor    and    clearness.      Then,    with    snapping 
eyes,  she  had  stalked  away  out  of  the  room, 
leaving   Brock,  serene  and  smiling,  in  undis- 
turbed   possession    of    the    field.     The    next 
morning.  Brock  had  been  called  out  of  town 
on    business.     When    he    returned,  two    days 
later,  Nancy  had  met  him  with  whole-hearted 
smiles.     Without  Brock's  genial  presence,  the 
atmosphere  of  The  Maple  Leaf  became  alto- 
gether too  fully  charged  with  electricity  for  her 
liking.     From    that  time    onward,   Nancy  re- 
membered her  hair,  and  fought  shy  of  argu- 
ment   with    the    tall    Canadian    whose    very 
imperturbability  only  rendered  him  the  more 
maddening  foe. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  heard  some  good 
news,"  she  assured  him,  even  while  he  was 
unfolding  his  napkin. 

Brock  smiled  with  conscious  satisfaction. 
"  So  I  have." 

233 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  Tell  me." 

"  Not  now." 

"  How  long  must  I  wait  ?  " 

"A  week." 

"  How  unkind  of  you,  when  you  know  I 
am  consumed  with  curiosity  ! " 

With  the  butterknife  in  his  hand.  Brock 
turned.  Nancy,  as  she  looked  far  into  the 
depths  of  those  clear  gray  eyes  of  his,  was 
suddenly  aware  that  all  was  right  with  Brock's 
world.  Moreover,  she  was  aware  that  he  was 
as  eager  as  she  herself  for  the  week  to  pass 
away  and  give  him   the  chance  to  speak. 

"Then  I  really  must  wait,"  she  assented  to 
the  look  in  his  eyes.  "  A  week  is  a  long  time. 
Meanwhile,  I  have  some  news." 

"Good,  I  hope." 

"  Certainly.  We  are  expecting  a  guest, 
next  Friday." 

"  How  unlucky  for  him  !  "  Brock  observed. 

"Are  you  superstitious?  " 

"  No  ;  but  you  are." 

She  raised  her  brows  in  question,  and  Brock 
answered  the  unspoken  words. 

"  Otherwise,  why  do  you  carry  a  pocket 
edition  of  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  do  ?  " 

"  Because  it  fell  out  on  the  floor  just  now, 

234 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   AXXE 

when  I  upset  your  coat.     It  is  a  very  superior 
little  Sainte  Anne,  made  of  silver." 

This  time,  Nancy  had  the  grace  to  blush. 
Only  the  day  before,  she  had  come  into  pos- 
session of  the  dainty  toy. 

"That's  not  superstition,"  she  answered; 
"  it  is  merely  an  effigy  of  my  patron  saint." 

Brock  nodded. 

"  For  the  name  ?  I  suspect  I  could  tell  who 
chose  it." 

Again  Nancy's  brows  rose  inquiringly. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  said  composedly. 

"  Barth,  of  course." 

"  No.  I  knew  you  would  say  so.  Now 
you  have  forfeited  your  one  guess,"  she  re- 
sponded smilingly,  yet  with  an  odd  little  tug- 
ging at  her  heart,  as  she  recalled  the  face  of 
St.  Jacques,  as  he  had  laid  the  little  silver 
image  into  her  outstretched  palm. 

"  Make  her  your  patron  saint  as  well,"  he 
had  said  briefly.  "  The  time  may  come  when 
I  shall  need  the  prayers  of  her  name-child  to 
help  me  at  her  shrine." 

And  Nancy,  looking  straight  into  his 
dark  eyes,  had  given  the  promise  that  he 
asked. 

But  now,  with  full  intention,  she  was  seeking 
to  drive  St.  Jacques  from  her  mind. 

235 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  You  don't  ask  about  our  guest,"  she  added. 
"  No."     Brock  buttered  his  bread  with  calm 
deliberation.      "  I    knew  you   would    tell    me, 
when  you  were  ready." 

She  fell  into  the  trap  laid   by  his   apparent 
indifference. 

"  I   am  ready  now.      It  is  an  old  friend  of 
ours  from  New  York,  Mr.  Joseph  Churchill." 
"  So  glad    he  is  an  old  friend,"   Brock  re- 
sponded coolly. 
Why  ?  " 

Because  he  won't  complicate  things,  as  a 
young  man  would  do." 

"  Mr.  Churchill  is  twenty-five,"  Nancy 
remarked  a  little  severely. 

"  We  call  that  rather  young  up  here.     Will 
he  stop  long  ?  " 
"  A  day  or  two." 

Brock  helped  himself  to  marmalade. 
"  And  he  comes,  next  Friday  ?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  Right,  oh  !  See  that  he  gets  out  of  the 
way  by  Monday.  The  Maple  Leaf  is  quite 
full  enough,  as  it  is." 

"  But  he  is  going  to  the  Chateau,"  Nancy 
explained. 

"  Lucky  fellow  to  have  money  enough  !  In 
his  place,  I  should  probably  have  to  seek  the 

236 


BY  THE   GOOD  SAINTE   ANNE 

Lower  Town.     What  are  you  going  to  do  with 

him  ?  " 

Nancy  smiled  ingratiatingly. 

"Just  what  I  was  meaning  to  ask  you,  Mr. 

Brock." 

Brock's  answering  laugh  sent  Earth's  fingers 
in  search  of  the  string  of  his  eyeglasses. 

"  There  's  a  snug  little  cell  empty  up  at  the 
Citadel,"  he  suggested.  "  Take  him  up  there 
and  let  him  see  how  he  likes  military  hospitality. 
He  could  put  in  a  very  instructive  two  days, 
studying    the    position    of   the    Bunker    Hill 

cannon." 

Two  days  later,  Nancy  stood  in  the  extreme 
bow  of  the  Levis  ferry.  Beside  her,  blond  and 
big  and  altogether  bonny,  stood  Mr.  Joseph 
Churchill,  obviously  an  American,  equally 
obviously  from  New  York.  At  the  stern,  in 
the  lee  of  the  deck  house.  Dr.  Howard  was 
doing  his  best  to  shelter  himself  from  the 
cutting  wind. 

Nancy  and  the  New  Yorker  were  in  full  tide 
of  conversation.  No  hint  of  regret  had  marked 
Nancy's  manner,  as  she  had  stood  scanning  the 
doors  of  the  sleeping-cars.  Before  Levis  was 
a  river-breadth  behind,  she  had  gathered  from 
her  companion  a  detailed  account  of  the  early 
gayeties  of  the  season,  had  filled  his  ears  with 

237 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

the  more  sober  charms  of  quaint  Quebec,  and 
had  drawn  a  vivid  outline  of  the  more  salient 
characteristics  of  Mr.  Reginald  Brock.  Of 
Barth  and  St.  Jacques,  she  had  omitted  to  make 
any  mention. 

Upon  one  point,  the  doctor  was  rigid. 
Churchill  might  register  at  the  Chateau,  if  he 
insisted.  He  must  take  his  meals  with  them 
at  The  Maple  Leaf  And  so  it  came  about 
that  Barth*s  first  intimation  that  a  guest  was 
expected,  occurred  when  he  looked  up  from 
his  tea,  that  night,  to  greet  Nancy  as  she  came 
into  the  room,  and  discovered  the  huge,  sleek 
American  at  Nancy's  side. 

"  Oh,  by  George ! "  remarked  Mr.  Cecil 
Barth,  and  promptly  dropped  his  bread,  butter- 
side  down,  into  the  starched  recesses  of  his 
immaculate  white  waistcoat. 

Later,  he  sought  the  parlor.  Over  his 
shoulder,  he  had  heard  the  gay  voices  of 
Brock  and  Nancy,  and  the  deeper  chest  tones 
of  the  burly  American.  He  felt  an  acute 
longing  to  put  on  his  glasses  and,  screwing 
himself  about  in  his  chair,  to  take  a  prolonged 
stare  at  the  intruder.  His  hurried  glance  had 
given  him  the  impression  of  vast  stature  com- 
bined with  the  workmanship  of  an  unexcep- 
tionable   tailor.       But    where    did    the    fellow 

238 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANXE 

come  from  ?  What  was  the  fellow  doing  there  ? 
And  what,  oh,  by  George,  what  was  the  fellow's 
connection  with  Nancy  ? 

"  I  'd    like     to     punch     him,"     Mr.     Cecil 
Barth  muttered  vengefully  to  himself     "Oh, 

rather ! 

He  found    the    parlor   quite   deserted.     St. 

Jacques,  who  had  met  Churchill  earlier  in  the 
afternoon,  had  betaken  himself  to   his  room. 
Brock  and  the  Howards,  with  their  guest,  were 
still  at  the  table.     Accordingly,  Barth  pulled  a 
book  from  his  pocket  and  sat  himself  down  to 
wait.     He  waited  long.     When  at  last  Nancy 
led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  Barth  was  surprised 
to  miss   Brock  from   her  train.     Under  such 
conditions,  it  was  inconceivable  to  him  that  the 
Canadian   should  not   have  stood  his  ground. 
The  parlor  was  common  property.      He  him- 
self would   sit   there   forever,   rather  than   let 
himself  be  ousted  by  any  American,  least  of  all 
an  American  who  would  bedeck  himself  with 
jewelry  as  uncouth  as  the  hymnbook  of  blue 
and  gold   that  dangled  from   this  American's 
fob.     Barth  had  always  heard  that  Americans 
were  stiffed-necked   dissenters.     Nevertheless, 
he    had   never  supposed   they    would    find    it 
needful  to  advertise  their  dissent  by  means  of 
enamelled  trinkets.     He  wrapped   himself  m 

239 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

his  Britishism,  and  s-at  tight  in  his  chair,  wait- 
ing to  see  what  would  occur. 

Nothing  occurred.  Nancy  gave  him  her 
usual  friendly  smile  and  nod.  Then,  crossing 
the  room,  she  settled  herself  on  a  sofa  and, 
making  room  for  Churchill  at  her  side,  dropped 
into  animated  talk  of  places  and  persons  who 
were  totally  remote  from  Earth's  previous 
knowledge.  Now  and  then,  she  glanced  across 
at  him  carelessly.  Now  and  then,  her  huge 
companion  turned  and  bestowed  upon  him  a 
rebuking  stare  which  said,  plainly  as  words 
could  have  done,  that  his  further  presence  there 
was  needless. 

Regardless  of  the  fact  that  he  knew  Nancy 
was  fully  aware  he  never  read  through  his 
glasses,  Barth  remained  stolidly  on  guard, 
glasses  on  nose  and  nose  apparently  in  his 
book.  Now  and  then,  however,  he  lowered 
his  book  and  refreshed  himself  with  a  smile  at 
Nancy,  or  a  scowl  at  the  unconscious  back  of 
Nancy's  companion. 

At  length,  Nancy  could  endure  the  situation 
no  longer.  Much  as  she  liked  Barth,  she 
could  willingly  have  dispensed  with  his  society, 
just  then.  After  their  weeks  of  separation,  she 
and  Churchill  had  much  to  talk  over,  and 
she  found  the  presence  of  an  outsider  a  check 

240 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

upon  the  freedom  of  their  dialogue.  So  sure 
had  she  been  of  Earth's  prompt  and  tactful 
withdrawal  that  she  had  made  no  effort  to  in- 
troduce him,  when  they  had  first  entered  the 
room.  Her  plans  for  the  next  day  were  formed 
to  include  the  young  Englishman.  For  that 
one  evening,  she  had  intended  to  give  her 
attention  entirely  to  her  guest.  Now,  however, 
she  saw  that  an  introduction  was  fast  becoming 
a  matter  of  social  necessity,  and  she  tried  to 
prepare  the  way  for  it. 

During  the  space  of  a  minute,  she  permitted 
the  talk  with  Churchill  to  lapse.  Then,  meet- 
ing Earth's  eyes  above  the  deckled  edges  of  his 
book,  she  smiled  across  at  him  in  the  friendly, 
informal  fashion  he  had  learned  to  know  and 
to  like  so  well. 

"  I  thought  you  were  bound  for  the  theatre, 
this  evening,  Mr.  Earth,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  wholly  random  bullet;  but  it  met 
its  billet.  Earth  reddened.  In  his  interest  in 
Nancy's  companion,  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
his  explicit  announcement  of  his  evening's  plan. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered  nonchalantly. 

"  Then  men  do  occasionally  change  their 
minds.     Is  n't  it  a  good  play  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  again,  still  more 
nonchalantly. 

i6  241 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Turning  slightly,  Churchill  looked  across  at 
the  slender,  boyish  figure  at  the  farther  side  of 
the  room.  His  glance  was  disrespectful,  and 
Barth  was  keenly  conscious  of  the  disrespect. 
He  made  a  manful  effort  to  assert  himself. 

"  Jolly  sort  of  night,  Miss  Howard,"  was  the 
only  bubble  that  effervesced  from  his  mind. 

Nancy  felt  a  wave  of  petulant  sympathy 
sweeping  over  her.  Long  experience  of  her 
guest  had  taught  her  the  meajiing  of  that  swift 
motion  of  his  head  and  shoulders,  and  she 
feared  what  might  follow,  both  for  Earth's  sake 
and  her  own.  She  dreaded  any  possible  injury 
to  the  feelings  of  the  young  Englishman  ;  she 
dreaded  still  more  the  hearing  Churchill's  irrev- 
erent comments  upon  a  man  whom  she  had 
grown  proud  to  number  among  her  loyal 
friends.  Never  had  Barth  appeared  more  im- 
penetrably dull,  never  more  obdurately  British  ! 
It  was  the  mockery  of  fate.  Just  when  she  was 
praying  that  he  might  be  at  his  best,  he  turned 
monosyllabic,  and  then  completed  his  disgrace 
by  talking  about  the  weather.  Meanwhile  her 
annoyance  was  forcing  all  ideas  from  her  own 
brain,  and  her  answering  question  was  equally 
banal. 

"  Is  it  cold,  to-night  ?  " 
Barth  was  not  impenetrable,  by  any  means. 

342 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

He  felt  Nancy's  embarrassment,  was  keenly- 
alive  to  her  efforts  in  his  behalf.  The  knowl- 
edge only  rendered  him  more  tongue-tied  than 
ever;  but  his  blue  eyes  smiled  eagerly  back  at 
her,  as  he  responded,  with  admirable  brevity, — 

"Oh,  rather!" 

"Joe,  what  is  it  ? "  Nancy  demanded,  as  she 
followed  her  strangling  guest  out  into  the  hall. 

Churchill  was  walking  to  and  fro,  coughing 
and  teary. 

"  Nancy  Howard,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak  ;  "  will  you  kindly  tell  me  what 
manner  of  thing  that  is  ?  " 

Then  Nancy  asserted  herself.  Erect  and 
gracious  in  her  dainty  evening  gown,  she 
turned  back  and  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"  Mr.  Barth,"  she  said,  in  a  quiet  tone  of 
command ;  "  will  you  please  come  here  and  be 
introduced  to  my  cousin  ?  Mr.  Churchill,  I 
want  you  to  meet  my  friend,"  an  almost  im- 
perceptible pause  added  emphasis  to  the  word ; 
"my  friend,  Mr.  Cecil  Barth." 


243 


CHAPTER   TWENTY 

"  A  ND  this,"  the  guide  continued,  with  the 
J~\.  loquacity  of  his  kind  ;  "  directly  at  our 
feet  is  the  River  Saint  Lawrence.  That  build- 
ing there  with  the  pointed  roofs  is  the  Chateau 
Frontenac,  built  on  the  exact  site  of  the  old 
Chateau  de  Saint  Louis.  Beyond  it,  you  see 
the  spire  of  the  French  Basilica,  consecrated 
in  sixteen  hundred  and  sixty-six,  and,  slightly 
to  the  right,  are  the  roofs  and  spires  of  Laval." 

"And,  right  under  our  noses,  the  city  of 
Quebec,  huddled  indiscriminately  around  The 
Maple  Leaf,"  Brock  interrupted,  as  their  red- 
coated  escort  stopped  for  breath.  "  Miss 
Howard,  I  wish  you  had  n't  been  quite  so 
generous  in  your  fee." 

"  But  I  am  sure  it  is  very  interesting," 
Churchill  observed  politely.  "  Remember  that 
I  am  a  stranger  here." 

The  guide  took  the  hint  and  edged  towards 
ChurchilFs  end  of  the  line. 

"  This  Is  what  is  termed  the  King's  Bastion," 
he  went   on   glibly.     "  Beyond   is   Cape   Dia- 

344 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANXE 

mond,  so   called   from    the  crystals  of  quartz 
that  used  to  be  found  there.     Now  they  are 
very    rare;    but,"    with    every    appearance    of 
anxiety,  he  fell  to  searching  his  pockets  ;  "  but 
I  happen  to  have  —  " 

Again  Brock  interrupted. 
"  No  use,  Thomas  Atkins,"  he  said  jovially. 
"We  are  too  old  birds  to  be  caught  in  that  trap." 
Unabashed,  the  guide  let  the  bits  of  quartz 
drop  back  into  his  pocket. 

"  Many  ladies  admire  my  buttons,"  he  said 
tentatively.  "  They  make  interesting  hat  pins." 
"The  ladies,  or  the  buttons?"  Nancy 
queried  innocently.  "  But,  thank  you,  I  think 
you  have  showed  us  everything,  and  we  can 
find  our  way  out  alone."  And,  leaving  the 
bastion,  she  led  the  way  back  to  the  tiny  can- 
non of  Bunker  Hill,  where  she  loyally  halted 
her  companions. 

A  cloudless  sky  arched  above  the  old  gray 
Citadel,  that  morning.  Inside  the  walls,  the 
daily  routine  was  going  its  usual  leisurely 
course.  Few  visitors  were  abroad  ;  but  an 
occasional  private  strayed  across  the  enclosure 
and,  not  far  from  the  gate,  guard-mounting 
was  just  taking  place.  Nancy  watched  the 
new  guard  as  it  tramped  out  into  the  open, 
saluted  and  went  into  position,  its  every  evolu- 

245 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

tion  followed  in  detail  by  the  stout  Newfound- 
land dog  who  waddled  along  at  its  heels. 
Then,  as  the  band  swung  about  and  marched 
off  for  its  daily  practice,  she  moved  away. 

"  Come,"  she  said  a  little  impatiently. 
"  After  the  glorious  past,  the  present  is  a  bit 
of  anticlimax.     Shall  we  go  for  a  walk?  '* 

Her  companions  assented,  and  together  they 
went  down  into  Saint  Louis  Street  and  turned 
towards  the  terrace.  As  they  passed  Earth's 
quarters,  he  unexpectedly  appeared  upon  the 
steps. 

"  Whither  ? "  Nancy  called  blithely,  as  he 
lifted  his  cap. 

"  To  post  some  letters." 

*'  Come  with  us,  instead,"  she  bade  him, 
notwithstanding  the  murmured  protestations 
which  arose  from  both  Brock  and  Churchill. 

To  Nancy's  mind,  the  previous  evening  had 
not  been  altogether  a  shining  success.  For 
half  an  hour  after  their  introduction,  she  had 
dragged  the  two  men  through  a  species  of  con- 
versation; but  there  had  been  a  triple  sigh  of 
relief  as  the  evening  gun  had  marked  the  hour 
for  Earth's  departure.  Nancy  had  followed 
him  to  the  parlor  door. 

"  Good  night,"  she  said  cordially  there. 
"  We  shall  see  you,  in  the  morning .?  " 

246 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

«Oh,  —  yes.     If  I    can,"    Barth   answered 

vaguely. 

Then  he  had  made  a  dejected  exit.  As  he 
strolled  languidly  away  to  his  room,  he  alter- 
nated between  fears  of  a  possible  relapse  in  his 
ankle,  and  mutinous  thoughts  regarding  the 
hero  of  Valley  Forge. 

"  Beastly  race,  those  American  men  ! "  was 
the  finale  of  his  reflections.     "  Oh,  rather  !  " 

Now,  however,  his  dejection  vanished  in  the 
face  of  the  sunshiny  morning  and  of  Nancy's 

greeting. 

"  Won  t  I  be  in  the  way  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Why  should  you  ?  " 
"  I  can't  walk  much,  you  know." 
"  But  I   thought    Englishmen  were  famous 
for  their  walking,"  Churchill  said,  as  he  greeted 
the  young  Englishman  much  as  a  genial  mastiff 
might  salute  a  youthful  pug. 

Barth  glanced  towards  Nancy  with  a  con- 
fident smile. 

"  Did  n't  Miss  Howard  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Tell  me  what?  " 

"  About  the  way  we  first  met.  I  sprained 
my  ankle,  and  Miss  Howard  turned  into  a 
hired  nurse,  and  took  care  of  me." 

Churchill's    eyes    sought     Nancy's    scarlet 

face. 

247 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  The  deuce  she  did !    Where  was  this  party  ? " 

"This  —  ?" 

"  This  party  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  It  was  n't  a  party  at  all.  I  was 
entirely  by  myself.  I  have  sometimes  won- 
dered how  she  ever  chanced  to  find  me  in  all 
that  crowd." 

"  Probably  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  guided  her 
unworthy  namesake,"  Nancy  responded  lightly. 
"  That  was  where  the  tragedy  occurred." 

"  Oh  !  "  Beside  Earth's  oh,  that  of  Church- 
ill seemed  needlessly  crisp  and  curt.  "  But 
I  thought  you  were  bored  to  death  at  Sainte 
Anne-de-Beaupre,  Nancy." 

"  That  was  only  at  first.  Later,  events 
happened." 

"  So  I  should  judge.  Strange  you  forgot  to 
mention  them  !  " 

"  There  are  unexplained  gaps  in  your  own 
letters,"  she  reminded  him  audaciously.  "  It 
was  only  by  chance  that  I  heard  whom  you 
took  out,  the  night  of  the  Leighton  dinner." 
Then  she  turned  to  the  others.  "  We  must  n't 
go  far,  this  morning,"  she  added ;  "  not  so 
much  on  account  of  your  foot,  Mr.  Barth,  as 
because  of  our  early  dinner.  Shall  we  take 
ourselves  to  the  terrace }  " 

High  up  on  the  glacis  in    the    lee    of  the 

248 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAIN TE   AXNE 

King's  Bastion,  they  found  a  belated  bit  of 
Indian  summer.  Nancy  dropped  down  on  the 
crisp,  dry  turf  and,  turning,  beckoned  St. 
Jacques  to  her  side.  Crossing  the  terrace  with 
Barth,  she  had  seen  the  Frenchman  pacing  to 
and  fro  beside  the  rail,  and  she  had  answered 
his  wishful  greeting  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 
Leaving  Brock  and  Churchill  to  lead  the  way, 
Nancy  had  sauntered  idly  along  in  the  rear, 
adjusting  her  quick  step  to  the  frailties  of 
Barth's  ankle,  her  alert  happiness  to  the 
darker  mood  which  sat  heavily  upon  her  other 
companion. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  fail  us,  this  after- 
noon, M.  St.  Jacques  ?  "  she  asked  now. 

Silently  he  shook  his  head. 

"Your  cousin  has  a  perfect  day,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause. 

"And  he  appreciates  it.  Already,  he  de- 
clares himself  the  slave  of  the  place." 

"  You  are  coming  with  me,  in  the  morn- 
ing ?  "  St.  Jacques  inquired. 

"  I  am  not  sure.  I  hope  we  can  ;  but  Mr. 
Churchill  is  not  a  very  good  Catholic,"  she 
answered,  with  a  smile. 

St.  Jacques's  eyes  lighted  mirthfully. 

"  But  Sainte  Anne  is  his  patron  saint  ?  "  he 

questioned. 

249 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Nancy  shook  her  head. 

"  Alas,  no  !  He  has  shifted  his  allegiance, 
and  poor  Sainte  Anne  is  feeling  very  much  cut 
up  about  it/* 

"  No  matter,"  St.  Jacques  answered  phil- 
osophically. "  She  is  getting  her  fair  share  of 
devotees,  and,  with  France  and  England  at 
her  shrine,  she  can  afford  to  be  content  with- 
out America."  Then  his  face  darkened.  "  If 
only  she  will  be  propitious  !  "  he  added,  with 
sudden  gravity. 

Nancy's  hand  shut  on  a  tuft  of  grass  at  her 
side.  Slowly  she  had  come,  during  those  past 
days,  to  the  realization  of  the  dual  personality 
of  the  patron  saint  of  Adolphe  St.  Jacques. 
Half  human,  half  divine,  the  Good  Sainte 
Anne  was  holding  complete  sway  in  the  mind 
of  the  young  Frenchman,  just  then.  Half  his 
unspoken  wish  was  plain  to  her,  half  was  still 
beyond  her  ken.  She  wondered  restlessly 
when  would  come  the  time  that  she  was  free  to 
speak.  She  wondered,  too,  what  were  the 
words  she  was  destined  to  say. 

With  a  swift  motion,  St.  Jacques  settled 
backward  to  rest  his  elbow  on  the  grass  at 
her  side.  Pushing  back  his  cap,  as  if  its 
slight  weight  irritated  him,  he  swept  the 
dark  hair   from  his  forehead.     Nancy  frowned 

250 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE  AXXE 

involuntarily  as  her  eyes  rested  on  the  angry 
scar. 

"That  was  a  shocking  blow,"  she  said  pity- 
ingly. 

He  nodded,  with  slow  thoughtfulness. 
Then  he  bit  his  lip,  and  shook  his  hair  for- 
ward until  the  scar  was  completely  hidden. 

"  It  might  have  been  worse —  perhaps." 

"You'd  better  ask  the  Good  Sainte  Anne 
to  do  a  miracle  on  you,"  Brock  suggested,  from 
his  place  farther  up  the  slope. 

Instantly  the  dark  eyes  sought  Nancy's  face. 

"  I  have  already  asked  her,"  Adolphe  St. 
Jacques  answered  quietly. 

"  And  what  did  the  lady  say  ?  " 

The  Frenchman's  eyes  moved  northward 
and  rested  upon  the  purple  tops  of  the  far-off 
Laurentides. 

"  My  novena  is  not  finished.  She  has  yet 
to  make  her  answer,"  he  said. 

And,  for  the  second  time  in  their  acquaint- 
ance, Nancy  was  conscious  of  the  dull  tugging 
at  her  heart.  Forgetful  of  Barth,  watching 
from  the  other  side,  she  turned  to  look  straight 
down  into  the  face  of  St.  Jacques ;  and  Brock, 
who  alone  of  them  all  had  been  taken  into  the 
heart  of  the  Frenchman's  secret,  felt  it  no 
shame  to  himself  when  the  tears  rushed  into 

251 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

his  clear  gray  eyes,  as  he  saw  the  look  on 
Nancy's  face,  womanly,  earnest,  yet  all  uncon- 
scious of  impending  ill. 

It  was  Churchill  who  broke  the  silence.  A 
stranger  to  them  all  but  Nancy;,  he  yet  could 
not  fail  to  realize  the  tension  of  the  moment. 
Nevertheless  he  assured  himself  that  he  had 
met  those  symptoms  before.  Nancy's  path, 
the  past  season,  had  been  strewn  with  similar 
victims. 

"  Wonderful  view  !  "  he  said  calmly. 

The  platitude  broke  the  strain.  St.  Jacques 
sat  up  and  put  on  his  cap,  and  Barth  fumbled 
for  his  glasses.  Above  them.  Brock  openly 
rubbed  his  eyes  with  the  bunched-up  fingers 
of  his  gloves. 

"  So  glad  you  like  it,  Joe  !  It  is  wonderful ; 
and  then  it  is  endeared  to  me  by  all  manner 
of  associations.  Away  up  there  in  those  blue 
hills,  Mr.  Barth  sprained  his  ankle  ;  M.  St. 
Jacques  and  I  spent  an  afternoon  in  this  road 
just  underneath  the  cliff,  and,"  her  eyes  sought 
Brock's  eyes  mockingly ;  "  and  there  are  n't 
ten  blocks  in  the  entire  city  that  can't  mark 
some  sort  of  a  skirmish  between  the  American 
and  Canadian  forces." 

Brock's  answering  shot  was  prompt. 

"  It  is  only  that  America  refuses  to  be  an- 

252 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

nexed,"  he  supplemented  gravely.     "  We  hope 
to  bring  her  to  terms  in  time." 

And  Barth  fell  to  kicking  the  turf  in  moody 
discontent.     Nancy  checked  him. 

"  Don't  destroy  the  glacis  of  your  chief 
American  outpost,  Mr.  Barth.  You  may  need 
it  sometime  to  fight  off  the  French  from  your 
possessions." 

Her  words  had  been  wholly  free  from  any 
allegorical  meaning.  Nevertheless,  Earth's 
heels  ground  into  the  turf  more  viciously  than 
ever,  as  he  made  grim  answer,  — 

"  Oh,  we  English  need  no  artificial  defenses 
to  fight  off  the  Frenchmen,  you  know." 

"  Sic  'em  !  "  Brock  observed  impartially. 
Then  he  snatched  his  hat  from  his  head,  and, 
forgetful  of  their  dififerences,  Barth  and  St. 
Jacques  followed  his  lead. 

Distant  and  faint  from  behind  the  sheltering 
wall  came  the  strains  of  God  Save  the  King,  as 
the  band  marched  back  from  practice. 

"Strange  to  hear  America  up  here!" 
Churchill  said  idly. 

"  America  ?  "  The  Frenchman's  accent  was 
inquiring. 

"Yes.     That  is  our  national  anthem." 

"  How  long  since  ?  "  Brock  queried  coolly. 

**  Why,  always,  I  suppose." 

253 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Barth  bestowed  a  contemplative  stare  upon 
the  stranger. 

"  How  very  —  American  !  "  he  observed. 

"  Of  course.  We  think  it  is  rather  charac- 
teristic, and  are  no  end  proud  of  it,"  Churchill 
assured  him  blandly. 

Barth  sat  up,  straight  and  stiff. 

"  Mr.  Churchill,  did  you  ever  happen  to 
hear  of  God  Save  the  King  ?  " 

"  Queen  ?  Oh,  beg  pardon  !  She  's  dead, 
and  it  is  a  king  now.  Yes,  I  Ve  heard  of  it. 
What  about  it  ?  '* 

"  That.*'  Barth  swept  his  little  gray  cap 
towards  the  dying  notes  of  the  final  phrase. 
"  Your  so-called  America  is  only  our  God  Save 
the  King.'' 

"  Is  it  ?  I  'm  no  musician,  and  did  n*t  know. 
Still,  I  can't  see  that  it  hurts  it,  to  have  started 
with  you.     So  did  we  all,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

"  Then  you  should  give  us  the  credit  for 
having  originated  it,"  Brock  suggested. 

St.  Jacques  rolled  over  on  his  other  elbow. 

"  As  it  happens.  Brock,  you  did  n't  origi- 
nate it.  It  came  from  the  other  side  of  the 
Channel." 

"  Oh,  rather  !  But  it 's  ours,"  Barth  inter- 
posed hastily. 

St.  Jacques  rolled  back  again. 

254 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Barth ;  but  it 
chances  to  be  French/'  he  returned  quietly. 
"  Lulli  wrote  it  for  Louis  Quatorze,  and  Eng- 
land borrowed  it  without  returning  thanks." 
And  then,  still  leaning  on  his  elbow  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  Barth,  he  sang  to  the  end  the 
good  old  song,  — 

**  Grand  Dieu  !     Sauvez  le  Roi  ! 
Grand  Dieu  !     Sauvez  le  Roi ! 
Sauvez  le  Roi  ! 
Que  toujours  glorieux, 
Louis  Victorieux, 
Voye  ses  ennemis 
Toujours  soumis." 

As  the  light  baritone  voice  died  on  the  still 
air,  Nancy  looked  down  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  France  scores,  this  time,"  she  said.  "  But 
what  a  text  for  an  international  alliance  !  Here 
we  are,  three  nations  sitting  under  the  eaves  of 
the  most  famous  citadel  in  America,  and  each 
claiming  as  his  very  own  the  same  national 
anthem." 

"  Oh  ;  but  it  is  generally  admitted  to  belong 
to  us,"  Barth  added,  with  unflinching  persist- 
ence. 

The  next  night,  Churchill  and  the  doctor 
were  left  alone  for  a  few  moments.  The 
doctor  held  out  his  hand  with  a  smile. 

255 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  Nancy  tells  me  you  are  open  to  congratu- 
lation, Joe." 

"  Yes.  That  is  what  brought  me  up  here. 
I  am  too  fond  of  you  both  to  be  willing  to 
take  your  congratulations  in  ink.  She  is  a 
wonderful  girl,  Uncle  Ross."  The  happiness 
of  the  young  American  sat  well  upon  him. 
In  his  uncle's  eyes,  he  gained  dignity,  even  as 
he  spoke  those  few  words.  Then  he  laughed. 
"You  may  find  yourself  in  the  face  of  a  similar 
situation,"  he  suggested. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Nancy." 

The  doctor  stared  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  not  a  bit !  Not  a  bit !  "  he  said 
then.  "  Every  lover  is  looking  for  love. 
Nancy  is  nothing  but  a  little  girl." 

Churchill  smiled. 

"  Then  look  out  for  your  little  girl.  You 
may  lose  her,  some  day." 

"  No,"  the  doctor  protested  valiantly. 
"  The  Lady  will  see  to  that.  They  are  nice 
boys,  good  boys ;  but  they  are  only  children." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  If  I  know  anything 
at  all  about  such  matters  —  " 

"  You  don't,"  the  doctor  interrupted  testily. 
"  But  go  on  !     Go  on  !  " 

"Then   St.  Jacques   is  very  much  in   love 

256 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

with  Nancy ;  and,  what  is  more,  that  snip  of 
an  Englishman  is  in  love  with  her,  too." 
"  Hh  !     And  what  about  Brock  ?  "  growled 

the  doctor. 

Churchill  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  smiled  back  into  the  frowning  face  of  his 

uncle. 

"That's  where  you  have  me,"  he  answered 

coolly.     "I   have    been  watching    the   two   of 

them,  all  day  long,  and  I  '11  be  sanctified  if  I 

can  tell  you  now." 


17  257 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-ONE 

FOUR  days  after  Churchill  took  his  de- 
parture from  Quebec  and  its  Maple 
Leaf,  Brock  came  striding  into  the  dining- 
room,  his  head  erect,  his  gray  eyes  shining. 

"  Miss  Howard,  you  are  going  for  a  walk, 
this  afternoon,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  back  his 
chair. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  counting  on  you.  Have 
you  anything  else  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  the  library,"  she  suggested. 
"  The  new  magazines  are  just  in." 

"  Let  them  wait,"  he  said  coolly.  "  It  is 
too  fine  a  day  to  be  wasted  over  a  fire  and  a 
book.  I  '11  not  only  show  you  a  new  picture  ; 
but  I  promise  to  tell  you  a  better  story  than 
any  that  ever  was  written  into  a  magazine." 

Nancy  looked  up  into  his  happy  eyes. 

"  Then  the  week  is  over  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  At  last." 

She  laughed  at  his  accent  of  relief. 

"  How  impatient  you  were !  Your  secret 
must  have  preyed  upon  you." 

258 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  AXNE 

"  Not  so   bad  as  that/'  he  began  ;   but  she 
interrupted  him  mockingly. 

"  And    how   many    people  have    you    been 
telling,  in  the  meantime  ?  " 

"  Not  one." 

"Truthfully?" 

"Yes.     I  wanted  to  tell  you,  first  of  all." 

She  smiled  back  at  him  fearlessly. 

"  Thank  you.      I  appreciate  it." 

"  And  will  you  go  ?  " 

"Of  course,"  she  answered  heartily.  "  Did 
a  woman  ever  refuse  to  listen  to  a  secret?  " 

An  hour  later,  she  joined  him  in  the  hall. 
Brock  stared  at  her  approvingly.  Her  dark 
green  cloth  gown  was  the  work  of  a  tailor  of 
sorts;  the  plumes  of  her  wide  hat  made  an 
admirable  setting  for  her  halo  of  ruddy  hair. 
And  Nancy  returned  the  approval  in  full 
measure.  Few  men  were  better  to  look  upon 
than  was  Reginald  Brock,  tall  and  supple,  his 
well-set  head  thatched  with  crisp  brown  hair 
and  lighted  with  those  merry,  clear  gray  eyes. 
No  sinister  thought  had  ever  left  its  line  on 
Brock's  honest,  manly  face. 

"Come,  then,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  the 
door.     "You  are  in  my  hands,  this  afternoon." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  Lower  Town.  Then, 
leaving  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires  far  behind 

259 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

them,  they  passed  the  custom  house,  crossed 
to  the  Louise  Embankment  and,  rounding  the 
angle  by  the  immigration  sheds,  came  out  on 
the  end  of  the  Commissioners'  Wharf. 

"There !  "  Brock  said  triumphantly.  "What 
do  you  think  of  this?" 

Nancy  drew  a  long  breath  of  sheer  delight. 

"  One  can't  think ;  one  can  only  feel,"  she 
said  slowly. 

The  river,  lying  deep  blue  in  the  yellow 
sunlight,  slid  past  their  very  feet,  its  glittering 
wavelets  crossed  and  recrossed  with  silvery 
reflections  caught  from  the  sky  above.  Far 
down  its  course,  the  dark  indigo  Laurentides 
seemed  jutting  out  into  the  stream  that  washed 
their  feet.  Above  was  the  Citadel,  a  crown  of 
gray  upon  its  purpHsh  cliff.  Behind  them, 
the  noise  of  the  city  lost  itself  in  the  murmur 
of  the  hurrying  tide.  Close  at  hand,  a  net- 
work of  cables  was  lowering  freight  into  the 
hold  of  an  ocean-going  steamer ;  and,  out 
in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  a  clumsy  craft, 
loaded  to  the  water's  edge,  crawled  sluggishly 
upward  against  current  and  tide,  ready  for  the 
morrow's  market. 

Brock  pointed  to  an  unused  anchor,  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  embankment. 

"  Shall  we  sit  down  ?  "  he  asked. 

260 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Nancy  took  her  place  in  silence.  Silently 
he  dropped  down  beside  her.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  the  stillness  was  broken,  save  by 
the  lapping  of  the  river  at  their  feet  and  the 
hoarse  cries  of  the  men  in  the  steamer's  hold. 
For  the  moment,  they  were  as  isolated  as  if 
they  had  been  in  some  remote  desert,  rather 
than  upon  the  edge  of  one  of  the  busiest  spots 
of  the  entire  city. 

Brock's  impatience  appeared  to  have  left 
him.  With  his  gaze  on  the  river,  he  was 
whistHng  almost  inaudibly  to  himself;  but  it 
was  plain  to  Nancy,  as  she  watched  him,  that 
his  thoughts  were  altogether  pleasant  ones.  So 
were  her  own,  for  the  matter  of  that.  The  past 
month  had  been  a  happy  one  to  her,  and 
Brock  had  caused  some  of  its  happiest  memo- 
ries. She  had  trusted  him  completely,  and  she 
had  never  known  him  to  fail  her.  His  chiv- 
alry, his  courtesy,  his  brother-like  care  had 
been  for  her,  from  the  hour  of  their  meeting. 
She  could  still  recall  the  glad  look  in  his  eyes,  as 
they  had  rested  upon  her  when  he  entered  the 
dining-room,  that  first  night.  From  that  hour 
onward,  Nancy  Howard  and  Reginald  Brock 
had  been  sure,  each  of  the  other's  friendship. 

"What   about   it?"     Brock    asked,   as    he 

suddenly  turned  to  face  her. 

261 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"About  what?" 

"The  subject  of  your  thoughts." 

"All  good  thhigs,"  she  answered  unhesi- 
tatingly. "I  was  thinking  about  you,  just 
then." 

"And  wishing  me  good?" 

"All  good,  even  as  you  have  been  good  to 
me,"  she  responded,  with  quiet  dignity. 

He  smiled. 

"  Nothing  to  count.  But  now  for  the 
picture." 

"  It  is  beautiful  beyond  words." 

He  smiled  again. 

"Wait.     You  have  n't  seen  it  yet." 

With  a  quick  motion  of  his  hand,  he  drew 
his  watch  from  his  pocket,  opened  the  case  and 
held  it  out  to  Nancy.  There  was  no  cloud  of 
reservation  in  the  girFs  happy  eyes,  as  she 
looked  at  the  picture  within. 

"Mr.  Brock!" 

"Yes?" 

His  accent  was  full  of  happy  question. 
Downright  and  prompt  came  Nancy's  answer. 

"She  is  adorable." 

Gently  he   took  the  watch   from   her  hand 

and  looked  steadily  at  the  picture,  a  picture  of 

a  round  girlish  face  set  as  proudly  as  Brock's 

own  upon  its  shapely  shoulders. 

262 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"YeSj"  he  assented  slowly.  "Better  than 
that,  she  is  good." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  gladness  in 
Nancy's  tone,  as  she  responded,  — 

"I  think  I  was  never  more  delighted  in  all  my 
life.     You  were  good  to  tell  me,  first  of  all." 

"I  wanted  to,"  Brock  replied,  with  boyish 
eagerness.  "  We  've  been  such  good  chums, 
all  this  last  month,  that  I  was  sure  you  would 
be  interested.  I  want  you  to  meet  her.  We 
were  n't  going  to  announce  it  just  yet ;  but  I 
coaxed  her  to  hurry  it  up  a  little,  so  I  could 
bring  her  to  call  on  you,  before  you  go  home." 

Nancy  still  held  the  picture  in  her  hand. 

"  Is  she  really  as  pretty  as  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  —  yes,  I  suppose  so.  I  used  to 
think  so.  Lately,  I  have  n't  thought  much 
about  her  looks,  one  way  or  the  other,"  he 
confessed.  "  She  always  seems  to  me  about 
right,  and  she  knows  things,  too.  Really, 
Miss  Howard,"  as  he  spoke,  he  faced  Nancy, 
with  his  eyes  shining;  "really,  I'm  in  great 
luck.  It  is  n't  every  day  that  a  girl  of  her  sort 
falls  in  love  with  a  fellow  like  me." 

There  was  no  hint  of  coquetry  in  Nancy's 
manner.  With  a  frankness  his  own  sister 
might  have  shown,  she  held  out  her  hand  in 
token  of  congratulation. 

263 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  she  answered, 
with  a  smile. 

Then  the  pause  lengthened.  Brock's  thoughts 
were  far  afield  ;  Nancy's  were  fixed  upon  the 
man  at  her  side.  In  all  sincerity,  she  did  re- 
joice at  his  unexpected  tidings.  No  sentimental 
regrets  entered  into  her  perfect  content.  Her 
friendship  for  Brock  had  been  friendship  pure 
and  simple  ;  on  neither  side  had  it  ever  been 
mingled  with  a  thought  of  love.  From  chance 
playmates  of  an  October  holiday,  they  had 
grown  into  a  loyal  liking  which  was  to  outlast 
many  a  dividing  year  and  mile.  And  Brock 
deserved  all  good  things,  even  the  love  of  this 
dainty  bit  of  girlhood  whose  eyes  smiled  bravely 
back  into  her  own. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  said  at  last. 

Brock  roused  himself  from  his  reverie. 

"  There  's  not  so  much  to  tell.  I  've  known 
her  always ;  we  've  always  been  good  friends, 
but,  last  summer  at  Cacouna,  it  was — different." 

Nancy  smiled  at  the  pause  which  added  ex- 
planatory force  to  the  last  word. 

"  And  was  it  then  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  till  two  or  three  weeks  ago.  You 
see,  it  took  me  a  good  while  to  get  to  where 
I  dared  speak  about  it." 

"  And  when  —  ?  " 

264 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

Brock  looked  up  suddenly. 

"I  don't  dare  think  of  that  yet,  Miss 
Howard,"  he  answered  a  bit  unsteadily.  "  The 
present  is  so  perfect  that  1  am  afraid  to  tempt 
Fate  by  asking  anything  more  of  the  future. 
For  the  present,  I  am  like  the  river  out  there," 
he  pointed  to  the  shining  stream  before  him  ; 
"just  drifting  along  in  the  sunshine." 

And  the  sunshine  found  an  answering  light 
in  Nancy's  eyes,  as,  accepting  his  offered  hand, 
she  slowly  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  her  face 
towards  home. 


265 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO 

THE  clouds  hung  gray  and  low  over  the 
old  gray  city.  From  the  river  the  wind 
swept  in,  raw  and  cutting,  and  the  Laurentides 
lay  in  the  purple  haze  which  betokens  a  coming 
storm.  The  terrace  was  deserted  ;  the  fountain 
in  the  Ring  had  stopped  playing,  and  narrow 
Sainte  Anne  Street  was  turned  into  a  tunnel 
thick  with  flying  dust.  Indian  summer  was  at 
an  end,  and  winter  was  at  hand. 

With  her  ruddy  hair  flying  and  her  broad 
hat  tilted  rakishly  over  one  ear,  Nancy  came 
fighting  her  way  down  Saint  Louis  Street  and 
across  the  Place  d'Armes.  Her  pulses  were 
pounding  gayly  with  the  intoxication  of  the 
cold  ;  her  face  glowed  with  the  struggle  of 
meeting  the  boisterous  wind.  From  his  ducal 
casement,  Barth  eyed  her  wishfully.  Then  he 
returned  to  his  book.  Nancy,  in  such  a  mood 
as  that,  defied  his  powers  of  comprehension. 
Upon  one  former  occasion  he  had  seen  her 
thus,  a  veritable  spirit  of  the  storm.  Experi- 
ence   had    taught    him  certain   lessons.       Mr. 

266 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Cecil  Barth  looked  down  on  Nancy's  erect 
head  and  blazing  cheeks,  on  her  vigorous, 
elastic  tread.  Looking,  he  sighed,  and  pru- 
dently remained  hidden  in  his  room. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Nancy's  shut  hand  de- 
scended upon  her  father's  door.  The  door  was 
locked. 

"  Oh,  daddy,  are  you  there  ?  "  she  called 
ingratiatingly. 

There  was  no  reply,  and  she  tapped  again. 
This  time,  the  doctor  answered. 

"  Busy,  Nancy." 

"  Really  and  truly  ?  "  she  wheedled. 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  how  mean  of  you  !     How  long  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell." 

Her  lips  to  the  keyhole,  she  heaved  an 
ostentatious  sigh.  The  sigh  brought  forth  no 
sign  of  relenting. 

"  I  am  very  lonesome,  daddy,"  she  said 
then.  "  It  is  too  bad  of  you  to  neglect  me 
like  this.  But,  if  you  really  won't  let  me  in, 
I  'm  going  out  on  the  ramparts  for  a  breath 
of  fresh  air." 

"  Well,"  the  doctor's  accent  bespoke  his 
manifest  relief.  "  Go  on,  dear  ;  but  don't  get 
blown  away." 

"  No ;  and  don't  you  fall  asleep  over  your 

267 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

horrid  old  manuscripts,  and  forget  to  let  your- 
self out  and  come  down  to  supper,"  she  cau- 
tioned him.     "  Good  by." 

Going  back  to  her  room,  she  took  off  her 
jacket  and  broad  hat,  and  replaced  them  with  a 
sealskin  coat  and  toque.  Then  she  went  run- 
ning down  the  stairs  and  turned  out  into 
Sainte  Anne  Street,  already  powdered  thickly 
with  falling  flakes. 

With  the  coming  of  the  snow,  the  wind  was 
dying,  and  Nancy  made  her  way  easily  enough 
around  the  corner  into  Buade  Street,  past  the 
Chien  d'Or,  gnawing  his  perennial  bone  high 
in  the  air,  and  out  to  the  northeast  corner  of 
the  city  wall  where  she  halted,  breathless,  beside 
one  of  the  venerable  guns. 

Just  then,  the  door  of  the  doctor's  room 
opened,  and  Adolphe  St.  Jacques  stepped  out 
into  the  hall. 

"  Courage,  boy  !  "  said  the  doctor  kindly. 

And  St.  Jacques  nodded  in  silence,  as  he 
gripped  the  outstretched  hand. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  he  took  his  way 
straight  in  the  direction  of  the  ramparts.  St. 
Jacques  could  think  of  but  one  person  in  the 
world,  just  then;  and  that  person  was  Nancy 
Howard.  He  overtook  her  at  the  angle  of  the 
ancient  wall.      Later,  it  occurred  to  him  that 

268 


BY   THE   GOOD    SAINTE   ANNE 

there  was  a  symbolic  meaning  in  the  situation, 
as  he  came  hurrying  onward,  with  Laval  at  his 
left,  Nancy  at  his  right,  and  the  brief,  empty 
stretch  of  road  before  him.  At  the  time,  how- 
ever, he  had  but  one  thought,  and  that  was  to 
get  to  Nancy. 

He  found  her  standing  with  her  back  towards 
the  direction  from  whence  he  came.  One  arm 
lay  lightly  across  the  cannon,  the  other  rested 
on  the  old  gray  parapet  which  made  a  fitting 
background  for  her  slight  figure  in  its  dark  cloth 
skirt  and  dark  fur  coat.  Her  shoulders  were 
sprinkled  with  the  fine,  soft  snow  and,  against 
the  snowy  air  above  the  river,  her  vivid  hair, 
loosened  by  the  wind,  stood  out  In  a  gleaming 
aureole  above  the  high  collar  of  her  coat. 

"  Miss  Howard  !  '* 

She  turned  with  a  start  to  find  St.  Jacques 
at  her  side.  Releasing  the  cannon,  she  held 
out  her  hand   in  blithe  greeting. 

"  Isn't  this  superb  ?  "  she  exclaimed  breath- 
lessly. "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  to  enjoy 
it  with  me.  See  how  the  river  is  all  blown 
into  a  chopping  sea !  And  the  snow  over 
Levis !  And  look  at  those  thick  clouds  of 
snow  that  keep  scurrying  across  the  river ! 
How  can  people  stay  in-doors  and  lose  it  all?" 

For  an  instant,  St.  Jacques  felt  himself  daz- 

269 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

zled  by  her  beauty  and  by  her  strong  vitality. 
In  all  his  past  experience,  there  had  been  no 
other  Nancy.  He  sought  to  get  a  firm  grasp 
upon  himself.  The  instant's  delay  caught 
Nancy's  quick  attention,  and  she  shrank  from 
him,  as  she  saw  his  rigid  face  and  lambent  eyes. 
Then  she  rallied  and  laughed  lightly. 

"What  is  it,  M.  St.  Jacques?"  she  queried. 
"You  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

"  So  I  have." 

"  Was  it  a  pretty  one  ?  "  she  asked  nervously, 
as  she  locked  her  hands  above  the  crowned 
monogram  on  the  gun,  and  stood  looking  at 
him  a  little  defiantly. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  the  ghost  of  what  I  might  have 
been,"   he  answered  quietly. 

Again  Nancy  sought  to  dominate  the  scene. 

"  So  bad  as  that  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  futile 
attempt  at  flippancy. 

He  disregarded  her  words. 

"  Miss  Howard,"  he  said  slowly  ;  "  I  have 
come  to  say  good  by." 

Instantly  her  tone  changed. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  !     Is  it  for  a  long  time  ? " 

"  I  may  not  come  back  while  you  are  here." 

It  was  plain  that  he  was  struggling  hard  to 
hold  himself  steady ;  and  Nancy,  at  a  loss  to 

270 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

explain  the  situation,  nevertheless  found  her- 
self sharing  his  mood. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  repeated  slowly.  "Are 
you  going  to  leave  Quebec  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  home." 

"There  is  no  trouble  there,  I  hope." 

"  No.     The  trouble  is  all  here." 

Nancy's  mind  went  swiftly  southward  to  the 
frisky,  boyish  days  that  unfold  themselves  at 

Yale. 

"  At  Laval  ?  "  she  questioned,  with  a  smile. 

St.  Jacques  shook  his  head. 

"What  should  be  the  trouble  at  Laval?" 

he  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  unless  you  have  come  into 
collision  with  a  dean   or    two,"  she  answered 

hastily. 

St.  Jacques  smiled,  with  a  pitiful  attempt  at 

mirth. 

"  No.     On  the  other  hand,  something  came 

into  collision  with  me." 

"  What  was  that  ?  " 

For  his  only  answer,  he  brushed  aside  his 
hair  and  let  the  storm  sweep  pitilessly  against 
the  scar  beneath.     Nancy  caught    her    breath 

sharply. 

"  M.  St.  Jacques  !     Do  you  mean  that  it  is 

going  to  be  serious  ?  " 

271 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  So  serious  that  I  must  give  up  all  work.*' 

"  Who  says  so  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Your  father." 

"  My  father  ?  "  Nancy's  accent  dropped  to 
utter  hopelessness.     "  For  how  long?  " 

"  Until  I  am  better." 

"  And  when  will  that  be  ?  " 

"  He  says  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  tell. 
Perhaps  —  " 

"Perhaps?  "  Nancy  echoed  questioningly. 

"  Perhaps  —  never." 

There  was  no  answer  for  a  moment.  Then 
Nancy's  glove  tore  itself  across  with  the  strain 
of  her  clenched  fingers. 

"  Oh,  I  could  kill  the  man  who  struck  that 
blow  ! "  she  burst  out.  Then  her  head  went 
down  on  the  crowned  monogram,  and  the 
silence  dropped  again. 

At  length,  Nancy  raised  her  head. 

"  Shall  we  walk  on  ?  "  she  asked,  as  steadily 
as    she  could.     "  It  is   very  cold   here,  all  at 


once." 


Side  by  side,  they  turned  the  corner  to  the 
westward,  and  came  into  comparative  shelter. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  it  ? "  she  said, 
as  soon  as  she  could  speak  quietly. 

"Just  as  you  came    to    the   door   of  your 
father's  room." 

272 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

She  drew  a  slow  breath,  as  she  looked  up  at 
his  face,  white,  but  resolute  still. 

"  And  already  it  seems  ages  old.  You  are 
sure  r 

"  He  is.  It  has  been  coming  on  for  a 
month  now.  Three  weeks  ago,  I  went  to 
your  father  and  told  him  that  I  feared  there 
was  trouble.  He  bade  me  wait,  to  live  out  of 
doors  and  to  work  as  little  as  possible.  I  kept 
the  hope.  My  profession  means  so  much  to 
me  now,  that  I  could  not  give  it  up.'* 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Your  profession  is  your 
very  life,"  Nancy  answered  gently. 

Swiftly  he  turned  and  faced  her.  In  that 
one  glance,  Nancy  saw  all  the  fiery,  repressed 
nature  of  the  man,  read  his  secret  and,  with  a 
sinking  heart,  acknowledged  to  herself  the  fatal 
keenness  of  the  blow  which  she  must  one  day 
in  honor  deal. 

But  the  answer  of  St.  Jacques  was  already  in 
her  ears. 

"  It  means  far  more  than  life." 

She  tried  to  stem  the  tide  of  his  words. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  she  asked  hurriedly. 

"To-morrow." 

"  So  soon  as  that  ?  " 

"  There  must  be  an  operation." 

"Where?" 

i8  273 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  At  my  home.  Your  father  will  go  with  me. 
Erery  one  says  no  greater  man  can  be  found. 
He  is  very  good,"  St.  Jacques  added  simply. 

Again  Nancy's  courage  failed  her.  Again 
she  looked  into  her  companion's  face,  and 
took  heart  from  the  resolution  written  there. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  say,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  Sometimes  there  is  nothing  to  say.  It  is  all 
said  for  us,"  he  replied,  with  sudden  dreariness. 
"  Meanwhile,  may  I  ask  a  favor  of  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"You  have  your  little  Sainte  Anne?  " 

For  her  only  answer,  she  took  it  from  the 
folds  of  her  blouse  and  laid  it  in  his  hand. 
He  walked  on  for  a  moment,  looking  down  at 
it  with  loving,  reverent  eyes.  Then  he  gave 
it  back  into  her  keeping. 

"  I  had  hoped  so  much  from  it,"  he  said 
slowly  ;  "  so  much  more  than  you  ever  knew. 
I  regarded  the  name  as  an  omen  of  good.  I 
even  made  my  novena  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain." 
His  voice  dropped.  "  All  in  vain."  Then 
he  steadied  himself.  "  But  the  favor  ?  It  is 
to  be  next  Thursday,  three  days  from  now. 
The  operation,  I  mean.  On  that  day,  will 
you  go  out  to  the  shrine  of  the  Good  Sainte 
Anne,  and  say  a  prayer  for  me  ?     You  are  no 

274 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Catholic,  I  know  ;  but  it  will  help  me  to  be 
brave,  if  I  can  feel  that  together  you  and  she 
are  making  intercession  in  my  behalf." 

Resolutely    Nancy   brushed   the  tears  from 
her  cheeks  and  faced  him  with  a  smile. 

cc  I  —  promise,"  she  said.     Then  her  voice 
failed  her  again. 

"Thank  you.  It  will  be  a  help.  Beyond 
that,  I  ask  nothing  of  you.  In  the  one  case, 
it  could  do  no  good.  In  the  other,  I  shall 
come  back  to  you.  There  is  no  need  to  tell 
you  all  I  have  wished  —  and  hoped  —  and 
prayed  for,  all  you  have  been  in  my  life,  these 
past  weeks.  If  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  wills  it, 
I  shall  tell  it  all  to  you,  some  day.  If  not 
—  good  by." 

As  he  took  her  hand  into  his  strong  fingers, 
Nancy's  tear-dim  eyes  were  blind  to  every- 
thing but  the  unspoken  love  and  longing  m 
the  great  dark  eyes  before  her,  everything  but 
the  point  of  the  lower  lip  rolling  outward  in 
its  pitiful  attempt  to  form  its  own  brave,  char- 
acteristic little  smile. 

Then,  hat  in  hand  and  the  snow  sifting 
down  on  his  thick  dark  hair,  he  turned  away 
and  left  her  alone  beside  the  old  gray  wall  in 
the  fast-gathering  snow. 


275 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-THREE 

FIVE  days  later,  the  doctor  came  back  from 
Rimouski.  Nancy,  on  the  platform  of  the 
station,  waited  eagerly  until  he  came  in  sight. 
Then  she  stepped  back  and  hid  her  face. 

"  It  was  all  so  like  his  life,"  her  father  said, 
when  they  sat  together  in  his  room,  that  night ; 
"  brave  and  quiet  and  full  of  thought  for  us  all. 
Once  he  rallied  for  a  few  hours,  and  we  felt 
there  was  hope.  At  the  very  last,  he  gave  me 
this  for  you.  He  said  you  would  understand." 
And  the  doctor  laid  in  Nancy's  palm  a  tiny 
figure  of  the  Good  Sainte  Anne,  the  exact 
duplicate  of  her  own,  save  that  its  silver  base 
bore  the  arms  of  St.  Jacques  and,  beneath,  two 
plain  initials  :  N  and  H. 

A  week  later,  Nancy  rose  from  her  knees 
beside  her  father's  open  trunk,  and  stood  star- 
ing down  into  the  courtyard.  Wrapped  to  his 
ears,  the  old  habitant  still  sat  on  his  block  in 
the  corner,  peeling  potatoes  without  end.  Far 
above  his  head,  a  stray  shaft  of  sunshine  gilded 
the  gray  wall  and  reminded  Nancy  of  her  reso- 
lution to  take  a  final  walk,  that  morning. 

276 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAIXTE   ANNE 

It  was  almost  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that 
Nancy  saw  the  approaching  end  of  her  stay  at 
The  Maple  Leaf.  The  past  days  had  held 
some  of  the  saddest  hours  she  had  ever  known. 
Till  then,  she  had  never  realized  how  the  bright, 
brave  personality  of  the  sturdy  little  Frenchman 
had  pervaded  the  place,  how  acutely  she  could 
mourn  for  a  man  of  whom,  less  than  six  weeks 
before,  she  had  never  even  heard.  Forget 
him  she  could  not.  She  and  Brock  talked  of 
him  by  the  hour,  now  laughing  over  the  merry 
days  they  had  spent  together,  then  giving  up 
to  the  sudden  wave  of  loneliness  which  swept 
over  them  at  the  thought  of  the  nevermore  that 
separated  them  from  their  good  comrade.  As 
yet,  it  was  too  soon  for  them  to  take  comfort 
from  the  doctor's  words,  that  the  swift  passing 
of  Adolphe  St.  Jacques  had  been  but  the  mer- 
ciful forestalling  of  a  pitiful,  Hngering  death  in 
life. 

To  one  day,  Nancy  never  made  any  allusion. 
That  was  the  day  she  had  spent  alone,  at  the 
shrine  of  the  Good  Sainte  Anne. 

Now,  as  she  stood  before  her  mirror,  fasten- 
ing on  her  hat,  her  glance  fell  to  the  little 
figure  of  the  good  saint  and,  taking  it  up,  she 
looked  long  at  the  symbols  graven  on  its  base. 
She  hesitated.     Then  she  gently   slid  it  into 

277 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

the  breast  pocket  of  her  coat.  In  loyalty  to 
St.  Jacques,  it  still  should  be  her  companion. 
His  eyes  now,  in  the  clearer  light,  could  see 
what  had  before  been  hidden  from  them. 
Adolphe  St.  Jacques  was  too  unselfishly  loyal 
to  fail  to  understand  the  nature  of  the  only 
love  she  could  ever  have  given  him  and, 
understanding,  to  reject  it. 

Inside  the  city  wall,  the  early  snow  had 
vanished ;  but  it  still  lay  white  over  the  Cove 
Fields,  over  the  ruins  of  the  old  French  forti- 
fications, and  over  the  plains  beyond.  Beyond 
Saint  Sauveur,  the  hills  were  blue  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  light  wind  that  swept  in  from 
their  snowy  caps,  was  crisp  and  full  of  ozone. 
Nancy  had  left  The  Maple  Leaf  with  slow 
step  and  drooping  head ;  she  went  tramping 
along  the  Grand  Allee  as  if  the  world  were  all 
before  her,  to  be  had  for  the  mere  sake  of  asking. 
Then,  as  she  turned  again  and  halted  by  the 
Wolfe  monument,  her  buoyant  mood  forsook 
her.  That  simple  shaft  marked  the  end  of 
one  who  died,  victorious.  It  spoke  no  word 
of  those  others.  Frenchmen,  brave,  true-hearted 
fellows  who  fell  there  in  their  hour  of  defeat. 
And  not  one  of  them  was  braver,  more  true- 
hearted  than  little  Adolphe  St.  Jacques. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Howard." 

278 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

Impatiently  she  raised  her  head  from  the 
cold  iron  palings.  Barth  was  standing  close  at 
her  side.  Even  as  she  nodded  to  him,  she  felt 
a  sudden  shrinking  from  his  inevitable  ques- 
tion as  to  the  cause  for  her  tears.  To  her 
surprise,  no  question  came. 

"  After  all,  he  was  a  wonderfully  good  little 
fellow,"  Barth  said  simply. 

She  nodded,  without  speaking.  Barth  let 
full  five  minutes  pass,  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  I  saw  you  go  by  the  house,"  he  said  then. 
"  I  fancied  you  would  come  out  here.  I  knew 
you  liked  the  place." 

"Yes." 

"  And  so  I  followed  you.  I  wanted  to  see 
you,  if  I  could.     Miss  Howard,  I  shall  miss 

you. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  It  would  be  dreary^  to 
feel  that  no  one  mourned  for  our  departure." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Barth  agreed.  "  Shall  we  go  on 
for  a  little  walk  ?  " 

With  one  last  look  at  the  shaft  and  its 
deathless  words,  Nancy  turned  and  followed 
him  back  to  the  Grand  AUee,  back  from  the 
place  of  the  dead  to  the  haunts  of  the  living. 

"  Do    vou    go,   to-morrow  ?  "  Barth    asked, 
after  another  pause. 
"To-morrow  noon." 

279 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  It  is  going  to  be  very  lonely,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  repeated. 

Even  to  Earth's  conservative  mind,  the  con- 
versation did  not  appear  to  be  making  much 
progress.  He  turned  and  peered  into  Nancy's 
thoughtful  face. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Howard,  would  you  be  wilHng 
to  give  me  your  address  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  assented 
cordially. 

"  Rather  !  I  might  call  on  you,  you  know, 
if  I  ever  went  to  The  States." 

"  That  would  be  delightful.  So  you  think 
you  will  come  across  the  border?  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  have  often  wondered,  just  lately, 
you  know,  what  I  would  think  of  The  States. 
What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"That  I  love  them,"  Nancy  said  loyally. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  what  do  you  think  that  I 
would  think  ?  " 

Nancy  laughed  outright,  as  she  met  his 
anxious  eyes. 

"  That  it  is  never  safe  to  predict.  I  advise 
you  to  come  and  see  for  yourself" 

Earth's  face  cleared. 

"  Thank  you,  you  know.    And  the  address  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  any  cards  here." 

"  Oh,  but  I  have."     And  Earth  hastily  took 

280 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

out  his  cardcase.  Then,  vAth.  Infinite  difficulty, 
he  focussed  upon  a  card  the  tip  of  the  little 
gold  pencil  that  dangled  from  his  watchchain. 

Nancy    dictated    the    address.       Then    she 
laughed. 

"  The  idea  of  tying  your  pencil  to  you  ! " 
she  commented  irreverently. 

''  Why  not  ?     Then  one  does  n't  lose  it,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  I  do  know.     It  reminds  me  of  the 

way  I  used  to  have  my  mittens  sewed  to  the 

ends  of  a  piece  of  braid,"  Nancy  responded. 

Barth  looked  up  from  his  half-written  card. 

"  Really  ?      How    interesting  !      But,    Miss 

Howard  —  "      He  halted  abruptly. 

"  What  now  ?  " 

"  About  The  States.     You  feel  they  are  the 
only  place  to  live  in? " 

"  Certainly,"  Nancy  replied  promptly. 
"Oh.  Have  you  ever  been  to  England?" 
"  No."  Nancy  began  to  wonder  at  the 
antiquity  of  British  customs.  At  this  rate  of 
progress,  it  would  take  aeons  for  a  Britisher 
to  evolve  a  custom  of  any  sort.  Already  her 
mind  had  outstripped  the  deliberate  mental 
processes  of  Barth.  She  also  began  to  wonder 
impatiently  how  long  it  would  take  him  to 
come    to    the    point.      There    seemed    to    her 

2S1 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

something  inhuman  in  allowing  him  to  remain 
on  the  rack  of  suspense.  Nevertheless,  she 
felt  that  it  would  be  altogether  unseemly  for 
her  to  refuse  anything  before  she  was  asked. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  to  England  ?  " 
Barth  continued  calmly. 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  want  to  visit  it.  How- 
ever, that  does  n't  mean  that  I  wish  to  take 
up  my  abode  there." 

"  Oh.  I  am  sorry.  Still,"  Barth  went  on 
meditatively ;  "  I  dare  say  one  could  make 
out  very  well,  even  if  he  had  to  live  in  The 
States." 

"  I  certainly  expect  to,"  Nancy  responded 
coolly. 

Again  he  peered  into  her  face. 

"  Oh  ;  but  I  don't  refer  to  you,"  he  said 
hastily.     "  I  was  speaking  of  myself." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  going  out  to  a 
ranch." 

"That  was  before  I  met  you,"  Barth  an- 
swered, with  quiet  directness. 

Suddenly  a  change  came  over  him.  Throw- 
ing back  his  shoulders,  he  faced  Nancy  with 
a  resolution  which  brought  new  lustre  to  his 
eyes,  new  lines  of  character  into  his  boyish  face. 
And  Nancy,  as  she  saw  the  change  in  him, 
trembled  for  the  decision  which,  with  infinite 

282 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

difficulty,  she  had  long  been  fixing  in  her  girlish 
mind. 

"  Miss  Howard/'  he  asked  abruptly  ;  "  do 
you  believe  in  the  Good  Sainte  Anne  ?  " 

Without  speaking,  Nancy  let  her  hand  rest 
lightly  on  the  little  silver  image  in  the  pocket 
of  her  coat.     Then  she  nodded  in  silence. 

"  So  do  I,"  Barth  answered.  "  I  am  not  a 
Catholic  ;  still,  I  believe  that  the  good  lady  has 
had  me  in  her  keeping,  and  I  trust  she  may 
continue  her  care  for  me.  Miss  Howard,  I 
am  English  ;  you  are  American,  very  Ameri- 
can indeed.  However,  different  as  we  are,  I 
think  our  lives  need  each  other.  I  had  never 
thought,"  he  hesitated  ;  then,  cap  in  hand,  he 
stood  looking  directly  into  her  blushing  face ; 
"  I  had  never  supposed  that  my  life  could  hold 
a  love  like  what  has  grown  into  it.  I  dare  not 
face  that  life  without —  Miss  Howard,"  he 
added,  with  a  swift  change  to  the  simple  boy- 
ishness which  became  him  so  well ;  "  my  life 
is  all  yours,  to  do  what  you  like  with.  I  shall 
try  to  meet  your  decision  bravely  ;  but  I  do 

hope  you  won't  throw  me  to  one  side,  as  of  no 

>> 
use. 

But    Nancy  walked  on  without  answering ; 

and  Barth,  still  cap  in  hand,  moved  on  at  her 

side. 

283 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

"  It  began  a  long  while  ago,"  he  added  at 
length.  "  I  really  think  it  must  have  started, 
that  day  at  the  shrine  of  Sainte  Anne." 

Again  Nancy^s  hand  caressed  the  little  image 
in  her  pocket. 

"  I  think  perhaps  it  did,"  she  assented. 

For  a  moment,  Barth  walked  on  in  silence, 
unable  to  construe  her  words  into  the  phrase 
which  he  was  waiting  to  hear.  Then  he  spoke 
again. 

"  I  went  out  to  Sainte  Anne-de-Beaupre, 
one  morning  last  week,"  he  said  slowly.  "  It 
was  very  desolate  there,  at  this  season.  I 
walked  out  on  the  pier.  Then  I  went  back 
and  sat  in  the  church  for  quite  a  long  time, 
and  I  thought  about  things.  Miss  Howard, 
I  wish  I  had  never  given  you  that  guinea." 

With  an  odd  little  laugh,  which  was  yet 
half  a  sob,  Nancy  put  her  hand  into  her 
pocket,  felt  about  underneath  the  little  silver 
image,  and  slowly  drew  out  a  shining  bit  of 
gold. 

"  Here  it  is,  Mr.  Barth,"  she  said.  "  Take 
it  back,  if  you  wish  it." 

Taking  it  from  her  outstretched  hand,  he 
stared  at  it  intently  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
held  it  out  to  her  again. 

"  And  you  have  carried  it,  all  this  time  ?  " 

284 


BY   THE   GOOD   SAINTE   ANNE 

"  No,"  she  confessed  reluctantly.  "  Only 
lately." 

"Oh,  but  —  " 

"  I  have  called  it  my  lucky  penny,"  she  In- 
terrupted, with  a  smile.  "  I  had  never  sup- 
posed you  would  regret  giving  it  to  me." 

Still  with  the  coin  in  the  hollow  of  hl^hand, 
he  put  on  his  glasses  and  peered  into  her  face. 
He  read  there  something  which  he  had  missed 
in  her  tone.  Dropping  his  glasses  again,  he 
held  out  the  shining  golden  guinea. 

"  Please  take  it  back  again,"  he  said,  and  In 
his  voice  there  came  a  sudden  imperious  accent 
which  was  new  to  Nancy.  "  And,  when  you 
take  it,  take  me,  too.  We  both  are  yours, 
you  know." 

The  girl  moved  steadily  on  for  a  step  or 
two,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  strip  of  path 
before  her.  Then  her  step  lagged  a  Httle  and, 
turning,  she  smiled  up  into  Earth's  troubled, 
waiting  eyes,  while  she  held  out  her  hand  for 
the  coin. 

"  Give  it  back  to  me,  then,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  It  is  mine." 

"  With  all  it  must  mean,  — Nancy  ?  " 

"  Yes.     With  all  It  does  mean." 

Their  hands  met  about  the  shining  piece  of 
gold,  and  it  was  an  instant  before  they  dropped 

285 


BY  THE   GOOD   SAINTE  ANNE 

apart   again.     Then    Barth    gave   a  contented 
little  sigh. 

"  And  now/'  he  said  slowly  ;  "  now  at  last 
I  really  can  call  you  my  Good  Sainte  Anne. 
Oh,  rather  !  " 


286 


Miss  Rays  New  Novel 

On  The  Firing  Line 

A    ROMANCE    OF  SOUTH    AFRICA 

By    ANNA    CHAPIN    RAY   and 
HAMILTON    BROCK    FULLER 

WITH    FRONTISPIECE    BT    H.     W.     MOORE. 

izmo.      Decorated   cloth,   $1.50. 


IN  this  fine  romance  of  love  and  war  Miss 
Ray  has  a  wider  field  than  she  has  com- 
passed before  and  strikes  a  deeper  note  of 
feeling.  The  events  take  place  in  South  Africa 
during  the  Boer  War,  and  in  local  details  Mr. 
Fuller  has  given  valuable  aid.  As  in  the 
author's  other  books,  the  characters  awaken 
interest  because  they  are  so  human;  and  Ethel 
Dent,  the  heroine  of  "On  the  Firing  Line," 
Harvard  Weldon,  the  Canadian  trooper, 
Captain  Frazer,  his  superior  officer,  Paddy, 
the  brave,  light-hearted  camp  cook,  and  Kruger 
Roberts,  Weldon's  Kaffir  boy,  will  interest  and 
delight  all  who  read  the  story. 


LITTLE,     BROWN,    &    CO.,     Publishers, 
BOSTON,     MASS. 


A  Story  of  Modem  Quebec  by  Miss  Ray 

BY  THE 
GOOD  SAINTE  ANNE 

By    ANNA    CHAPIN    RAY,   author  of    "The  Dominant 

Strain,"  etc. 
Illustrated.  12nio.  $1.25 
A  young  Englishman,  Cecil  Barth,  visiting  Quebec  on 
his  way  to  a  ranch,  a  New  York  physician  and  his  daugh- 
ter Nancy,  a  Canadian  of  English  descent,  and  a  young 
French- Canadian  studying  law  are  the  chief  characters  of 
this  charming  summer  novel,  abounding  in  bright  and 
interesting  conversations.  This  pleasing  story  of  the  love 
affairs  of  vivacious  Nancy,  the  heroine,  has  for  a  back- 
ground the  many  places  of  interest  in  and  around  Quebec. 


A  New  Novel  of  Present-Day  Virginia  Life 

WHERE 
THE  TIDE  COMES  IN 

By  LUCY  MEACHAM  THRUSTON,   author  of  "  Mistress 

Brent,"   "A   Girl  of  Virginia,"  etc.     Illustrated. 

12mo.     $1.50 

In  her  new  story  Mrs.  Thruston  portrays  a  heroine  as 

charming  as  her  delightful  "  Girl  of  Virginia."   The  scenes 

of  the  novel  are  laid  at  Norfolk  and  Portsmouth,  and  the 

vicissitudes  of  the  Southern  vegetable  farmer,  who  depends 

on  the  irrepressible  negro,  are   strongly  pictured.      The 

novel  is  a  genuine  love-story  with  a  touch  of  politics,  and 

the  Southern  atmosphere  is  delightfully  unhackneyed. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  ^  CO.,  Publishers 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


Far  outside  the  common  run  of  Jiction.  —  T>ial,  Chicago 


THE  WOOD-CARVER 
OF  'LYMPUS 


By  M.  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "  A  Daughter  of  the  Rich,"  etc. 

With  frontispiece  by  Chase  Emerson.     12nio.    311  pages.    $1.50 

A  strong  tale  of  human  loves  and  hopes  set  in  a  back- 
ground of  the  granite  mountain-tops  of  remote  New  Eng- 
land. —  BrooHijn  Eagle. 

Hugh  Armstrong,  the  hero,  is  one  of  the  pronouncedly  high 
class  character  delineations  of  a  quarter  century.  —  Boston 
Courier. 

It  is  a  book  which  does  one  good  to  read  and  which  is  not 
readily  forgotten ;  for  in  it  are  mingled  inextricably  the  ele- 
ments of  humor  and  pathos  and  also  a  strain  of  generous 
feeling  which  uplifts  and  humanizes.  —Harry  Thruston  Peck, 
Editor  of  The  Bookman. 

A  few  books  are  published  every  year  that  really  minister 
to  the  tired  hearts  of  this  hui'ried  age.  They  are  like  little 
pilgrimages  away  from  the  world  across  the  Delectable  Moun- 
tains of  Good.  .  .  This  year  it  is  *'The  Wood-Carver  of 
'Lympus."  ...  It  is  all  told  with  a  primitive  sweetness  that 
is  refreshing  in  these  days  when  every  writer  cultivates  the 
clever  style.  — Independent,  New  York. 

The  book  is  as  manly  as  "  Ralph  Connors,"  and  written  with 
a  more  satisfying  art.  —  Amos  R.  Wells,  in  Christian  Endeavor 
World. 

LITTLE,     BROWN,    &     CO.,    Publishers,   BOSTON 
At  all  Boohsellers 


A  Masterpiece  of  Native  Humor 


SUSAN  CLEGG  AND  HER 
FRIEND  MRS.  LATHROP 


By  ANNE  WARNER 
Author  of  "A  Woman's  Will,"  etc. 

With  Frontispiece.     227  pages.     12mo.     $1.00. 

IT  is  seldom  a  book  so  full  of  delightful  humor  comes 
before  the  reader.  Anne  Warner  takes  her  place  in  the 
circle  of  American  woman  humorists,  who  have  achieved 
distinction  so  rapidly  within  recent  years. — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

Nothing  better  in  the  new  homely  philosophy  style  of 
fiction  has  been  written. — San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

Anne  Warner  has  given  us  the  rare  delight  of  a  book 
that  is  extremely  funny.  Hearty  laughter  is  in  store  for 
every  reader. — Philadelpliia  Public  Ledger. 

Susan  is  a  positive  contribution  to  the  American  char- 
acters in  fiction. — Brooklyn  Times. 

Susan  Clegg  is  a  living  creature,  quite  as  amusing  and 
even  more  plausible  than  Mrs.  Wiggs.  Susan's  human 
weaknesses  are  endearing,  and  we  find  ourselves  in  sym- 
pathy with  her. — New  York  Evening  Post. 

No  more  original  or  quaint  person  than  she  has  ever 
lived  in  fiction. — Newark  Advertiser. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  Publishers,  BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers'* 


ifC'/VV^ 


{"^A 


